


Guardian of the Golden Wood

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2007-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:19:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 55,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3744014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- A tale of mystery and adventure set in  around 1300 T.A -</p><p> </p><p>Gandalf learns of a deathless and nameless horror that haunts the Misty Mountains. Driven by a suspicion about an ancient evil, that was lost long ago, he desires to unveil the mystery. With the unwilling help of the Captain of Lorien, he embarks upon a dangerous and dark quest, that will lead him from the depths of Mordor into the pits of the Necromancer of Dol Guldur.<br/><br/>(For better understanding, a forum containing a timeline has been added and is linked up with the story. The story is actually rated 'General' but may go up in rating later)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - The Elfling

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

A short author's note to the reader: English is not my mother tongue! I am fully aware that I will never be as perfect and as accurate as a native speaker. Please keep in mind that while spelling and grammar are relatively easy to comprehend, ponctuation in a foreign language is a mystery, shadowed in the veil of a cloud!

 

 

Prologue - The Elfling

 

 

 

 

The tiny little creature curled up into a protective ball. Its hair was matted and full of knots and tangles. It smelled and was so dirty that its skin colour was almost impossible to tell. Celeborn gave a small sigh, then walked over to the cot. Slowly he went to his knees. He doubted the little thing knew it was an elfling.

 

 

 

 

When he addressed the creature, murmuring soft words in the common speech, it tried to hide itself clutching the blanket and curling up even tighter in a corner of the cot. It trembled like a leaf!

 

 

 

 

The Lord lifted the blanket and gently pushed a strand of matted tangles to look into the dirty face of the terrified elfling. A pair of storm-grey eyes stared at him in silent terror. Tears running over its cheeks, cracking the grim in places. It bit its lips, so it would not cry out or make any noise.

 

 

 

 

'Hush, young one! We mean no harm. You are safe here. Will you allow a healer to tend to you?' Celeborn's second attempt to comfort the elfling was to no avail. Its tears flooded freely and it pushed its small, dirty fist into its mouth and bit it.

 

 

 

 

The Lord of Eregion watched the tiny thing with surprise. He did not remember when in his long life, he had ever instilled such fear in any creature that was not a servant of the darkness or a spawn of the shadows of Morgoth. And suddenly he shook his head and smiled: This little one had perhaps no idea what it was, but could it be....? He repeated his words of comfort in Sindarin and suddenly the elfling relaxed. It gave a deep sigh and nodded its approval.

 

 

 

 

It was so very young that it was hard to tell if it was a male or a female. Eight, perhaps ten summers...and so small and mangy, that it reminded Celeborn of an underfed stray kitten. A messenger carrying letters from his beloved had found the elfling on his way back from the forest realm of Laurelindorean were the Lady Galadriel was visiting with his kinsmen Amdir.

 

 

 

 

At the edge of the wilderness, east of the Misty Mountains and in a forlorn place were only few were able to scratch a miserable living from a hard and stony ground, the messenger had discovered the smoldering ashes of a tiny farmstead with destroyed cattle. Amongst the ruin was the mangled body of an ancient, grey-haired human woman and, clinging to it for dear life, the exhausted elfling with a vicious cut from a blade across its left shoulder.

 

 

 

 

At the Lord's sign, a healer stepped out of the cool shadows of the room and walked over to the bed on which the hurt elfling lay.

 

 

 

 

'Now tend to him!' Celeborn commanded the slender, fair elleth. 'Be as gentle as you can and please.....do not frighten it.'

 

 

 

 

Then Celeborn turned back to the elfling. 'What is your name, little one?' he inquired gently, placing his long, slender fingers under its dirty chin and brushing away its tears with a tender movement of his thumb.

 

 

 

 

'Nana called me Fair Child!' the elfling whispered. 'But Nana is gone, isn't she? I tried so hard to protect her. I failed! They were so many of them....'

 

 

 

 

'Hush!' replied Celeborn, 'You must heal now, Fair Child. Do not worry for the moment. We will talk again, when you feel better.'

 

 

 

 

He left the bedside of the elfling and returned to the Galadhrim officer who waited further away in the room by a windowsill.

 

 

 

 

'Come with me, Orophin. The letters of the Lady Galadriel can wait. First, you must tell me exactly were you found this elfling and under what circumstances.'

 

 

 

 

The messenger bowed obediently and followed the Lord of Hollin. Together they left the House of Healing and descended the stairs to a soft wooden path that led to the peaceful shores of Lake Nenuial. Only when they were convinced that the hurt elfling would no longer be able to hear their conversation, did they speak again.

 

 

 

 

'No Silvan elves dwell so far to the East, my Lord, or so close to the slopes of the Misty Mountains,' Orophin said, thoughtfully, 'I do not think he is of Laurelindorean for it would have been known if an Elven child had gone astray.'

 

 

 

 

The Lord of Hollin shrugged. 'It does not matter. Now the little one is in my realm, it is my duty to see to his welfare. Tell me everything.'


	2. Mischief and Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 1 - Mischief and Distraction  
  
The dark-haired elleth lifted a suspicious eyebrow when she realized that the quiet visitor to the herbal gardens of Lothlorien did not wear the customary weapons of the guardians of the forest realm nor his customary long, curved blade.  
  
He had been discreetly standing in the shadows of a blooming elder tree for a while now and she had put some effort into ignoring him, continuing with her lecture on the healing powers of some plants to a small group of students. But instead of losing interest and continuing on his way to whatever business of the forest realm of the Lord Celeborn his may be, the Captain was still there. He observed her with this amused expression that has already driven her mad when she had entered Lothlorien a couple of weeks ago accompanied by a brace of Imladris guards and the Lady Celebrian, who decided to pay an impromptu visit to her parents.  
  
Silraen crossed her long, slender arms behind her back and pretended not to see him or the small wicker basket that sat beside him in the soft grass. A sparkle of mischief glittered in the blue-grey eyes of the Captain. Oh, how she hated that sparkle, those blue-grey eyes and .....the distraction! She had desperately hoped that he would be somewhere on the fences, chasing orcs or killing whatsoever dark creatures menaced the peace and calm of the realm of Lothlorien, wished he was somewhere far away from Caras Galadhon ...and far away from her.  
  
Celeborn's captain was the worst distraction she had ever encountered in her long life and a distraction she gave in to all too easily.  
  
Whenever he crossed the mountains to ride into Imladris, her peace of mind and soul was gone: Gone was the attention she normally paid to the quiet rooms of Elrond's renowned library, gone the time she would devote to the countless healing herbs in the gardens of her lord. Also gone, the countless, forgotten hours she spent in the apothecary, preparing potions and salves for the ailing and sick.  
  
She hated that sparkle in his mischievous eyes which seemed so young and innocent. Despite his innocent appearance, she knew that Haldir had been born in the days when Elu Thingol's hidden realm of Doriath still existed and the Girdle of Mélian protected the Sinda of Nargothrond against the evils of Morgoth and his henchmen. She also knew that she would give in once again and chase away her students and spend another lazy afternoon somewhere in the forests, doing nothing of worth to Elvenkind and idling the hours away with him.  
  
The obnoxious elf grinned and lifted the cotton cloth that covered his wicker basket invitingly.  
  
Silraen frowned and threw a nasty look at her students, who had by now discovered the intruder and were chuckling. Brainless younglings! They should sit and study, not laugh at their elders! She was already thinking how she would give a piece of her mind to the uninvited visitor, and then her group of distracted ellyth when she heard the light moving of feet in the grass.  
  
The soldier, clad in grey and dark green stood half-hidden behind the trunk of the tree, speaking softly to his captain. In an instant, the mischief disappeared from Haldir's blue-grey eyes and all joy of life left his fair features. He stiffened, his broad shoulders straightened. He gave the messenger a short nod, turned on his heels and hurried away without sparing a second look for her, nor the students, who had suddenly fallen silent.  
  
The wicker basket stood abandoned and lonely under the elder tree and an icy feeling made Silraen shiver despite the bright sun of the forest glade. Something was happening in Lothlorien. Something terrible came their way!  
  
Silraen had known this feeling before; a feeling of doom and loss. It had been a long time since Elrond, accompanied by her father and many brave Elven warriors, had followed Gil-Galad to the barren lands of Mordor where the shadows lain. It had been this very same feeling that she felt now. Her father had not returned from the dark lands. She had never known when he had perished or how. So many had fallen in the struggle that had brought the Dark Lord to his knees and most of her kin to the Halls of Waiting.  
  
Her mother had abandoned her sortly after news of Sauron's destruction had reached Imladris, sailing to the Undying Lands, else she would have perished from the grief of her loss. Then Silraen had found herself for the first time face to face with Haldir.  
  
But after the slaughter on the slopes of Mount Doom and an endless war against evil, there had been no mischief nor laughter in his eyes. He had been the ghost of an elf, hard and cold and abused by seven long years in the field and too many cruel deeds. In her own grief over the loss of her father and the departure of her mother, Silraen had spend many an hour by his bedside, nurturing him back to health and some semblance of life. When he had been healed from his physical wound, he had followed his Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel to the realm of Prince Amroth who had taken up the throne of Lothlorien after his father's death on the field of Dagorlad.  
  
But once or twice every year the captain had found a way to return to Imladris. After a while, he left his memories of the Last Alliance behind and became that lively distraction that she loved, and yet hated, so much. Having the gift of immortality, he took his time courting her. Although she knew deep in her heart one day she would give into his efforts and stay forever in Lothlorien, Silraen was too fond of their elusive games to end his suspense too quickly....Haldir seemed tremendously fond of their game as well. But she knew when the Galadhrim solider had whispered into the ear of her captain that all romantic games between them were set aside.  
  
'You may take the afternoon off,' Silraen gave a deep sigh and waved her group of students away.  
  
Once again, Haldir had managed to take her attention from her duties. Slowly, and with heavy steps, she made her way over to the elder tree. She lifted the cotton cloth and glanced into the wicker basket. A picnic including lovingly prepared morsels of food, fresh strawberries in a small bowl, her favourite almond cake, and a bottle of wine with glasses.  
  
Silraen would have enjoyed to idle away another afternoon in his company. They would have laughed and joked and he would have dragged her to some hidden, favourite place deep in the forest, somewhere by a spring or a small lake. Then Haldir would have taunted and mocked her until she grew mad at him, as always, until he took her into his arms and kissed away her anger. As usual, she would have given in to him, and they would have made love in the soft grass. Silraen took a small strawberry and turned it thoughtfully between her fingers.  
  
She felt doom and loss lingering not only over the fair lands of Lothlorien, but over him, her captain.


	3. Galadriel's Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 2 Galadriel's Challenge  
  
  
When Haldir reached Galadriel's and Celeborn's dwelling in the heart of Caras Galadhon, he felt uneasy. It was no habit of the Lady to send formal messengers after him, when he resided in the city!  
  
The captain shook his head and took the small silken pouch, he had been hiding close to his heart into his calloused hand. He stared at it gloomily, then he pushed it deep into a pocket of his tunic. Elves were immortal and he had been taking his time to court Silraen and while deep in his heart he had known for a while that one day she would give in to his efforts and stay with him in Lothlorien, she had been too fond of this little game to speed up things. ...the trips to Imladris, her delicious little bouts of anger, when he dragged her from Elrond's apothecary or the herbal gardens, the long afternoons out in the forest, her mischief and the laughter in her eyes, when he kissed her into silence...he had fallen for the dark-haired sprite the very moment he had opened his eyes on that cot, still numb from a battle wound and haunted by seven endless years of war against the Deceiver and his minions...  
  
He pushed away his thoughts of her and the lazy afternoon he'd intended to spend with Silraen at that little forest spring, she liked so much and descended the few steps that led to Galadriel's private gardens.  
  
The last time she had felt it necessary to send for him such a formal and official way, stray orcs and trolls had started to infest the Eastern part of the Misty Mountains and she had wished him to gather first-hand intelligence in order to determine if these bands were under the guidance of some greater power then their very own malice and evil. Since Haldir possessed a strange, natural talent for foreign tongues, he had been her first choice for this mission. He was the one and only elf in the realm of Lothlorien who spoke and understood not only the Black Speech devised by Sauron, but also a variety of rag-tag Orkish and goblin dialects. His early childhood knowledge of Manish and the Common Speech had been an additional qualification for this un-habitual spy work and the only reason, why his Lord Celeborn had agreed to send the Captain of Lothlorien for weeks unnumbered into the wild.  
  
The two wardens of the Household who kept the entrance to the waste clearing in the middle of which stood side by side two giant mellyrn trees stepped aside when they saw him. Then a lady-in-waiting hurried him through the gardens down to a beautiful forest quell that fell over several moos-covered stones into a basin.  
  
It was Galadriel's favourite place: A stone bench stood a few steps away from where the water quelled up. There she sat clad in white on soft, embroidered cushions. A low table with a silver cup full of fruit, two wine goblets and a crystal decanter stood next to a basket of pretty white and deep blue anemones.  
  
She smiled at his arrival.  
  
The Captain gave a courteous bow, placing his hand over his heart.  
  
'My Lady, what is your command?'  
  
Galadriel signalled to her lady-in waiting that she could leave. Then she turned to Celeborn's Captain: 'Pray, Haldir! Let go these stiff formalities. Come and sit with me for a while.'  
  
He felt even more uneasy, then when he had entered the garden: Cushions, wine goblets and an invitation to sit were not the common ritual for receiving orders or a mission. Neither was the place Galadriel had chosen! Either you came here, because Celeborn's Lady was in a festive mood and received guests for food and merrymaking or she had had a vision in her 'Birdbath of Doom' and she felt contrived to meddle in your very own private affairs and life!  
  
He did not dare to move even a step forward. Instead, he sank to one knee.  
  
'My Lady, what is your command?' He repeated in a low, soft voice. He did not face her but looked to the ground demurely.  
  
Galadriel did not reply.  
  
Haldir suddenly felt a warm, slender hand under his chin, lifting up his face. She still smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes.  
  
'Are you so afraid of the Lady of Lothlorien, that you will not do my biding and sit with the one, who has tucked you in, while still an elfling?' He heard her murmuring softly inside his head. 'Haldir, you serve our people well and you have never failed us in more then four thousand years. On countless occasions, you have risked your life and an eternity in the Lands of Valìnor. Do you really believe it necessary to cling like a drowning elf to useless formalities and rank?'  
  
He held her gaze unblinking. He was not afraid of Galadriel. Not at all! She had told him bedtime stories, sang him to sleep and played with him in the meadows on the shores of Lake Nenuial She had held him in her arms, when he had been upset or sad and she had given him peace and respite, when Celeborn had forgotten that he was young, and fragile and terribly lost in a new world. And once upon a time, she had placed a tiny little elfling in his arms and told him, that now he had a little sister to protect! But he had not and one day Elrond had taken Celebrian away from her family to Imladris. And while his mind and common sense had told him that this was right and good, his heart sometimes still told him, that he had failed the Lady of the Light.  
  
There had been a time, when she had been simply 'naneth', although he had always known that -in fact- she was not!  
  
It was only...she was so bright, so shining, and so terribly beautiful. His heart and soul had been completely devoted to Galadriel since the very moment he had first set his eyes upon her and....he was unable to figure out how he could simply sit down next to her on a bench like an innocent elfling....with Celebrian married to Elrond and a bunch of yrch invading their woods! It had been hardly ten days that they had returned from a long and dangerous hunt after the marauding band which had attacked one of the elven villages on the Eastern border and killed all its inhabitants and while Silraen's and Celebrian's arrival from Imladris had considerably lifted his spirits, the images of the smouldering ashes of the broken trees and the lifeless bodies of his kinsfolk still haunted him during his nights.  
  
The Lady of Lorien read the dilemma that troubled her husband's Captain in his mind and could not but laugh with mirth. She bent down and took both his hands into hers, literally forcing his knees off the ground.  
  
'Haldir, Haldir! When will you ever grow up? We did celebrate your 500th birthday...you remember? You are no longer an elfling! You did not betray my trust, because two grown up elves could not keep their hands off each other and...........it was not your fault, that a bunch of marauding yrch crossed the borders of our lands! Even the best defences are not impenetrable to determined wrongdoers!'  
  
The Captain blushed. 'T'is nothing about Celebrian or Elrond! That was a long time ago and she is old enough to decide with whom to consort...' He chuckled softly. 'I do know, that he is not a deceiver of innocent she-elves! It was her own decision....and with three elflings at hand, I can do nothing more to protect her.....'  
  
He allowed Galadriel to lead him over to the bench, where he took his place peacefully by his Lady's side.  
  
'Now, this is better, isn't it?' She said aloud to him, picking up the decanter and filling the two goblets with red wine.  
  
' I spoiled your afternoon, didn't I?' She began and her eyes sparkled with mischief.  
  
'You did, indeed!' The Captain replied reasonably and padded the pocket of his tunic. 'What in Eru's name made you send this messenger. Silraen had almost finished with her bunch of unruly ellyth and I have spend a whole morning preparing a nice picnic and a rather reasonable speech to tell her, that Imladris is no place to live in for a clever and beautiful she-elf!'  
  
'Have you finally?' Galadriel replied matter-of-fact.  
  
She was used to Haldir's never-ending courtship of the beautiful healer from Elrond's Heaven and had been waiting for the last five hundred years that the Captain of Lothlorien would finally grow weary of their games and make his lady-love stay in their forest.  
  
Haldir nodded and accepted his goblet of wine: 'I have! I am rather fed up with chasing Silraen around Imladris every time I want to see her. She belongs here! I am sure she will see the reason of my argument.!  
  
Galadriel chuckled: 'Bully!' She replied, knowing that it would take some time to lighten his spirits and to take his mind off the yrch, the transgression of their borders and the destroyed Elvin village that disturbed him so deeply.  
  
She had visited this community of Silvan elves several times, trying to talk them into abandoning their place and moving closer to a place, where Haldir maintained one of the permanent garrisons of his wardens along the fences of Lorien. But they had not felt menaced and explained, that in case of danger they could rely on help from the dwarves of Khazad-Dum, whom they befriended and traded with. Dwarves had indeed come to their assistance when the marauders had attacked, but the Naugrim had been slain together with her elves!  
  
Galadriel padded Haldir's hand gently, trying to lure his thoughts away from the border incident and the bloody hunt through the mountains. She needed his good, common sense and his memory...and she needed him steadfast and willing to go into a terrible danger!  
  
'Bully?' Celeborn's Captain smiled.' I think not, Naneth, I am running after this mischievious sprite since the days of Gil-Galad and Isildur. T'is enough! I am only a normal, average ellon and even my patience has its limits. She knows, that her place is in Lothlorien....' He lowered his head and took a small sip of wine,' ....if only she would finally admit it!'  
  
Galadriel chuckled. That was much better then his gloomy spirit, when he had stepped into her garden and much better then this terrible feeling of loss and doom she had felt in his soul, since he had returned. She needed Haldir in his combative mood, willing to do something completely foolish and....against his better judgement as Protector of their Realm and Captain of Celeborn.  
  
'Mithrandir has come to Caras Galadhon.' She said softly, changing the subject. 'I believe you know this already from your guards on the Southern Fences.  
  
Haldir shook his head. He had not cared for the reports from the Southern Fences, nor for those from the North, the East or the West, since he had returned to Caras Galadhon. He had -for once-dared to pushed away duty and service and think only of his very own future and personal happiness and so, instead of brooding over reports and messages of his wardens, he had picked up Celebrian and Silraen with their company and spent the following days exclusively in pursuit of his lady and his ultimate plan to make her stay in Lothlorien for good..  
  
'You have an odd feeling about this, haven't you, Naneth?' He took a sip and nodded again.  
'As usual, you have a very good instinct, Haldir. And you are right to feel uneasy!'  
  
He lifted his eyes and stared at her. 'Something very evil is going on, My Lady. I feel great dark and doom looming over us. I cannot define it well. It is not precise or clear.....it is just frightening. I felt it all the time, when we hunted that band of marauding yrch into the Misty Mountains.'  
  
'Indeed, my fair child. It is frightening. What do you know of the Rings of Power?'  
  
Haldir almost dropped his goblet. 'The Rings of Power?' He took a deep breath and regained his self-control before he replied.  
  
'One is at your right hand, My Lady. Nenya, the Ring of Adamant! The other -Narya, the Ring of Fire - was entrusted to Cirdan the Shipwright and the third elven ring -Vilya, the Ring of Water is in the keeping of the Lord Elrond, since Gil Galad perished on the slopes of Mount Doom.'  
  
Galadriel smiled and padded Haldir's hand. 'Correct for the three that Celebrimbor had forged all alone. But what else do you know?'  
  
The Captain took another sip from his goblet. Better drink it then spill it! This was most certainly not a check-up on his knowledge of lore and wisdom in order to see if he merited his rank and position in the realm of Laurelindorean. Moreover, he had a dark feeling of coming doom....and he had always distrusted thinks that held magic, without having a brain of their own.  
  
His memories of Eregion were still painfully fresh, also more then three thousand fivehundred years had passed.  
  
'When the Deceiver invaded Eregion to reclaim by force all the rings he had sought to rule by the forging and wearing of the One, he took the Nine Rings and the lesser works of the Mirdain, but the Seven of the Dwarves and the Three of the Elves he could not find. I remember, that Celebrimbor himself gave a ring to Durin and I assume, that one of the seven is today well kept in the Halls of Khazad-Dum. As for the six others...well: There are altogether seven dwarven nations in Arda and I can only assume that each of them has one ring in their keeping; My Lady! "  
  
'Indeed!' Galadriel nodded and turned her own ring of mithril and adamant thoughtfully.  
  
'And what else, my dear friend! What else do you remember?'  
  
Haldir put his goblet down on the table, before he turned to face Galadriel. He braced himself, taking a deep breath. The language he would speak had never before been heard before in this place, but it was perhaps better to get on and over with it.  
  
'Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.'  
  
Galadriel shivered. For one short moment her eyes widened in fear. Then she nodded, placed her hand over Haldir's and said 'Continue, please!'  
  
'I remember the weakness of men and the destruction of Númenor! I remember nine ships escaping the Downfall and landing in Middle-earth, carrying Elendil and his sons Isildur and Anárion. I remember their great realms in Middle-earth, and the men-at-arms they brought to march with us against Sauron...and I remember once more the weakness of men and the moment, when Isildur failed and deceived us all. But he did not keep the One for long, for he was set up by yrch on the banks of the Great River, and the Ring was lost in its depths. And there it lays still, for the last thousand and something years or else it was swept into the abyss of the oceans.....!'.  
  
Haldir gave a sigh. He felt very shaken, now that he told her what he knew about the rings. It was not a very common knowledge, more something to be found with a select few highly educated lore masters. It was most certainly not the habitual knowledge of a soldier, even one so old as he and who had fought the Deceiver not only once, but three times in his lifetime.  
  
Oh, he knew the history of the Deceiver and the Rings of Power...and much more!  
  
Haldir knew things he would rather forget if he could. He'd gladly rip of his sword arm himself with an unsharpened knife if this would made his childhood memories go away forever...memories that still troubled him in his sleep although millennia had passed since and nightmares that had pushed him to pick up sword and bow while his playmates still lazed in the clear waters of the Lake Nenuial, once upon a time in the fair lands of Hollin.  
  
The sheer terror inside his soul had forced the uniform of a soldier upon his shoulders the first moment Lord Celeborn had been willing to hear his oath of loyalty and service. Whenever Haldir drew his blade or raised his bow to kill, it was also an attempt to kill these memories...memories of why he was proficient in several varieties of Orkish and Goblin dialects and even the Black Speech...reminiscences of many hidden underground chambers and vaults far beneath the earth, prison cells and pits filled with creatures of the abyss, faceless and subdued slaves, elves and dwarves and men, dragging along without hope and often simply giving up and willing themselves to death, a dour and barren land surrounded by mighty towers of ash and slag raised above gates of iron and steel....recollections of wall upon wall, battlement upon battlement, black, immeasurably strong, Angband, the Hell of Iron, the fortress of Sauron, north of Beleriand and built by his master Morgoth to guard against any possible attack of the Valar from Aman!  
  
Sometimes, when he was particularly tired and worn out a flash would appear before his inner eye. He could neither close nor blind this eye: The steel gate of the Towers, the causeway that ran out into the plain of Dor Daedeloth, the Land of the Shadow of Dread. It had been there that the yrch and other creatures of Morgoth lived and bred.  
  
Eight short years, the first years of his life...Nana had told him, that his mother gave her last breath the moment he breath his first breath deep under the earth in one of Sauron's forsaken prison cells. She had known his father's faith, too, but he had never been able to coax a reply from her. It had taken the human female altogether eight years to find a pass way out of the dreadful Hell of Iron, griming his face with dirt and hiding his Elvin ears under untidy, unkempt dangling hair...so that none of the Deceivers servants would realize that she kept an elfin child with her ...Nana dragging him through the Iron Mountains, and finally over a plateau that connected them with the Blue Mountains Ered Luin ....hiding at night and running under the blazing sun or in the icy rain and snow, while the orcs and other creatures of Sauron were handicapped...hunger, cold, despair....Nana hiding with him in a dark cavern, somewhere on the slopes of Ered Luin...Nana promising him that she would bring him out of the desperate wilderness and back to his Elven kin....some short months of bliss and security in a tiny settlement of farmers somewhere close to the borders of the fair land of Eregion...and the night, when they came...yrch, yrch and a nameless and faceless terror!  
  
Tears welled up in Haldir's eyes. He sat in the middle of the Golden Wood on a bench and close to the Lady of the Light and nevertheless he could see him as clearly as he had seen him then...all clad in black shrouds, iron gauntlets and a ring of iron on his head, his face hidden behind a black veil of horror. Sauron himself! He had seen the Deceiver with his own eyes and still lived to tell the tale.  
  
He started to tremble, unable to control himself any longer. Tears streamed over his cheeks. Nana had given her life to save his during that night of terror! He had failed to protect her.  
He still felt the cold and terror that surrounded the Deceiver on his dreadful, black steed, neither horse nor dragon...a kind of worm with stinking breath and long fangs, like blades that shone yellow under the light of a full moon.  
  
Haldir dropped his head on his knees. He spilled all those tears that he had kept at bay for millennia, millennia when he had hidden away his memories from Celeborn and Galadriel, from Orophin the Lorien Warden who had found him and later on become his comrade and friend, from Orophin's gentle brother Rumil and his wife Anysse, where he had spend so many childhood days of bliss, while Galadriel and Celeborn visited their friend King Amdir of Lothlorien, from his playmates Elrond and Elros, when they were in Lindon and even from Silraen, whom he had loved for one thousand years...pretending that everything was right and well, memories he had held in such a tight check that his blade and bow had become his only form of release. He was always most at peace in the midst of battle with blood dripping from his sword. He was neither particularly brave nor terribly courageous....his peace of mind simply depended upon the quantity of yrch and dark creatures he could slay!  
  
And if there were no yrch at hand, he would do with whatever else...brigands, marauders, way layers and bandits were able to quell his blood thirst for a while. On occasions when he ran short of these, he'd request leave to go for wargs or wolves. Everything that reminded him of first ten dark summers of his childhood....  
  
He felt Galadriel's gentle embrace. Her hand stroked his long, golden hair soothingly and she whispered soft words into his ear. 'Let it go, Haldir! Let it go!'  
  
She had known for ages what tormented him, but she had also understood that there was no good in forcing it out of him. His intellect had always known that he was not to blame for the death of his old nurse Nana. No unarmed elfling can stand up to dozens yrch or the great Deceiver!  
  
But this was no matter of logic. Never had been. And since Haldir had a constant reminder of this past in the form of a long and ugly scar over his left shoulder blade, it was even harder for him to make peace with events that had happened and could never be changed, even if millennia had past ever since.  
  
When Haldir had no more tears left, they sat together in silence for a long while, Galadriel wrapping her slender arms protectively around his strong frame. There was one last question he had to answer, before she could explain to him Mithrandir's biding. It was of the utmost importance that he found the courage to speak out the words aloud.  
  
He would be no use to their cause obsessed by the phantoms of his early childhood!  
He would only sacrifice his life needlessly in a vain attempt to erase memories instead of coping with them and accepting them as part of himself. She pushed him gently away and forced him back into eye contact.  
  
'Haldir, why did you never open yourself to Silraen?'  
  
She knew the answer, but he had to say it aloud and to hear it.  
  
He brushed his tears away with his sleeve, looking at her thoughtfully.  
  
It was strange. When he had spoken about the Rings, Sauron, Angband, the yrch, the death of Nana and all the rest it had been extremely painful...as if someone tried to skin or burn him alive. But now that the words were said he felt...somehow relieved.  
  
It was like a closure, an end. He was a bit raw and aching, but a silent voice in his chest told him that the next time he'd curl up for sleep there would be no more nightmares to haunt him. As if saying it aloud had chased the terror that was hidden away in his heart and mind for so long. He straightened his shoulders.  
  
'I remember my mother's death, Naneth! It is curious, for I was just born, but I do remember the moment, my mother died....but I cannot remember her face. Each and every time I tried to tell Silraen, I saw my mother dead before me...only it was Silraen's face on the ground, lifeless, her eyes wide open, staring without seeing anymore.... I was convinced that it would come true if ever I tell her about my childhood and my mother's death in the dungeons of Angband.'  
  
His voice was firm again, his hands no longer shaking. Warmth had returned to his body and for the first time in his long life he felt truly free.


	4. The Mystery of the Misty Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 3 The Mystery of the Misty Mountains  
  
Olorin smiled. He had not wished first to go to Arda to vie with Sauron, but somehow the idea of having Artanis , the Man-Maid and granddaughter of Finwe and Olwe as his chief partner-in-crime had made his departure from the Undying Lands more pleasant.

Already when he had known her young and ambitious and radiant in Valinor, she had been the sprite. But now, after many trials and errors in the lands of Arda, she seemed even more mischievous and lively. He had always loved her dearly and he had regretted her leaving of the Undying Lands in such a brawl with his mighty masters. But she had been and still was the most independent-minded free-bird he had ever known.

He pushed his fist into his mouth not to chuckle aloud and betray his presence in her secret garden. It was very entertaining to observe her careful taunting of that straight-laced and honourable warrior, who seemed to be willing to carry all the burdens of Arda on his broad shoulders, if this would be his Lady's command.

Olorin tried to remember his mother and her husband...a couple of rather simple Sinda elves, who had had the bad idea to cross the wrong borders at the wrong moment to find themselves entangled in the web of Sauron's dark creatures. They had hardly spent a century in the Halls of Waiting before Namo saw it fit to release them into the peace and beauty of Valinor. Not even the pits of Angband had made them have a cause with their destiny!

But their son seemed to be a rather more complicate species of the Elven kind. He was clever and hardy and he had not lost his heart and soul in the millennia of struggle and strife against the darkness of Morgoth. But he also had a strange and rather powerful brand of Elvish magic, which was not very common in those who had not seen the light of the Trees...and he seemed to be pretty much aware of the mischief of Sauron, since he had taken the fair form of Annatar to deceive Celebrimbor and the elven smiths of Eregion. Rather uncommon with a soldier, even if that soldier was the highest-ranking warden of Lothlorien!

Olorin listened carefully to the ongoing discussion between Artanis and the brave captain of this Sinda prince from Doriath....Teleporno, or Celeborn, as he preferred to be called.

Thinking back to Valinor, the Istar had never ever thought that the Man-Maid Nerwen from the House of Finwe would be able to give her heart to some simple Moriquendi, whose only attributes in life where a certain amount of common sense and a rather sharp blade, when it came to trouble and strife. But he obviously completed Artanis and he had made her less wild and more...compassionate with lesser beings.

Olorin watched Celeborn's Captain with great curiosity: He looked solid like a rock, with his broad shoulders and strong frame and he seemed to have a mind to match his body. Normally an average elf, who'd been born under such terrible circumstances and spend his first years of life in such precarity and danger would have gone straight for the Heavens and taken the first ship to the Undying Lands. But this one had seen the Fall of Doriath, the War of Wrath, the Sundering of Beleriand, the destruction of Eregion, the War of the Last Alliance and Eru knows what else in his long life and he was still in Arda ...and rather bellicous, when it came to the dark remainders of Sauron's rule. He had seen the same drive in that half-elven Lord of Imladris -Elrond, also that one appeared to be a bit more settled down and less on the edge of his blade. Elrond had spoken well of Celeborn's Captain! Likewise minds recognize each other!

A broad grin gave Olorin, whose earthly form was that of an aged, frail, grey-haired and grey bearded human male a rather roughish appearance. There was still another small test to pass, but he felt confident that Artanis could manipulate this honourable warrior into his perfectly foolish plan. Celeborn's Captain seemed exactly the right travel companion for this little quest...perhaps not an excessively willing companion and most certainly not one with a very nice temper, but....exactly the elf he needed!

***

Haldir's eyes met those of Galadriel. He felt terribly awkward. It was not his character to cry on a motherly shoulder.

The Lady of the Golden Wood tucked a strand of his golden hair gently behind his ear. 'You must never think that it is a sign of weakness to cry, fair child! Memories can break you, Haldir....For how long did you try to hunt down your demons by the sword?'

Celeborn's Captain shock his head. He had lost the count of his years of service already a long time ago.

'Would you like me to tell you?' Galadriel asked with a sad smile.

Haldir shock his head.

'How often have you been seriously wounded, my fair child? I do not speak of an occasional spent arrow or a slash from a blade...I speak about those times, when you were but a step from the gates to the Halls of Mandos?'

He shrugged his shoulders. He had lost count of this, too. 'Well,' He replied wryly,' I presume often enough to have you mention it, Naneth.'

Then he looked up straight into her eyes. 'Wouldn't it be easier to tell me straightforward what this is all about?' He had spoken respectfully, notwithstanding the brashness of his words. 'Basically our discussion began with you telling me that Mithrandir has come to our lands and also I admit that I like the old wizard rather well, he is a bit of a troublemaker and never comes on friendly visits without a cause!'

'My dear Haldir, this is all about a very touchy subject.....very touchy indeed!' She gave him a hard look. 'Mithrandir came indeed into Lothlorién in order to ask for our help. He wants me to give him our best soldier for an undetermined duration of time in order to send him straight into harms way...'

'What?' The Captain was surprised. 'Mithrandir -so much he knew- had come from Valinor some centuries ago, arriving with a brace of other elderly men in Cirdan's Heaven. He had suspected, that Mithrandir and the other four were elves or some kind of elvish folk, perhaps special envoys of Ingwe, the leader of the Vanyar and High King of all Eldar, who resided in Taniquetil, ruling their kindred from beneath Manwe, the High King of Arda and that they had gone into Arda on business of his.

'What would such a gentle and kind-natured trickster and meddler in the affairs of elves need a soldier for, My Lady? Has he lost some ancient scrolls in Elrond's library or has his favourite white steed gone astray somewhere in the remnants of Elendil's old kingdom?'

'Haldir!' Galadriel chuckled, 'Be serious! This is no laughing matter!'

Olorin chuckled softly in his place of hiding. Celeborn's Captain had a kind of humour, notwithstanding Elrond's warnings about Haldir's excessive seriousness and extreme sense of duty.

Very few of Middle-earth's inhabitants knew who they really were; they did not share their identities and purposes except with a selected few like Galadriel or Cirdan of Mithlond. Most thought they were just Elves or some kind of Wise Men and during the last centuries they had attracted but few questions due to their gentle nature and dislike of direct interference with other people's internal affairs and policies.

They were meant to not use their natural power as Maiar in fighting Sauron, but to use their great wisdom to persuade Elves and Men of Middle-earth to take the course of action which would achieve their own goals, rather than trying to dominate them with their own.

Olorin had the curious feeling that besides that half-elven Elrond, who had a particularly bright mind and perceptiveness beyond average and to whom he would be obliged to reveal himself sometime soon, there would be probably another elf suspicious enough to see behind his grey-haired and fragile human 'mask'. Artanis had been pushed into a rather tight corner - to his great surprise. Now the Man-Maid was obliged to give some answers before she could reveal to this soldier what was expected of him!

***

Haldir rose to his full height looking down at the Lady of the Wood. 'Naneth, either you now tell me straightforward about this touchy subject and get over with it, or I will drag you from your garden and back to that picnic basket I left with Silraen and you can accompany us for some lunch in the forest! First you send me a most formal messenger, commanding the Captain of Lothlorien to report immediately to you. Then you try to get me into a good mood with questions about my love life and finally you make me pass a test of knowledge concerning the Rings of Power and the great Deceiver ...and all this just to tell me that some elderly wizard with a rather curious taste in scrolls, meddling and ambiguous talk has decided to pay a visit to this realm, because he needs some travel companion with soldierly competences. If it would have been only this, why did he not take Elladan and Elrohir. They are quite capable wielding a sword or using a bow, have a rather developped taste for adventures and troublemaking and are hardly overburdened with duties in their father's realm....and they have much more easy-going tempers then I have...!'

'Sit, Haldir!' Galadriel padded the cushion next to hers. There was mischief in her eyes. She had not expected this discussion to be so difficult!

She was pretty much aware of his quick mind and powers of deduction and she had known him long enough to be aware of his natural suspiciousness. She had had no doubts that yrch transgressing the protective powers of Nenya would give him goosebumps, but she had not expected to be obliged to reveal more then necessary to him.

Although Celeborn had always loved his foster-son dearly, he had never been a tremendously cuddly foster-father. From the very moment Haldir had overcome his exhaustion and wound after Orophin had found him and given him into her husband's keeping in Eregion, Celeborn -completely unfamiliar with elflings and their needs, but already keen for a long time to have a son - had taken Haldir's education into his very own hands and moulded the young one into a perfect little warrior, giving him bow and arrow and a little sword as playthings, putting him on the back of some small pony for 'recreation' and teaching him discipline and obedience. In the world of Celeborn of Doriath there had never been much time for light-hearted distraction and merrymaking! When she had returned from her lengthy visit of Amdir's realm it had almost been to late to interfere and Haldir had been so attached to her husband, that she had simply let it be, only meddling in their 'affairs', when she felt that Celeborn truly went to far with someone so young and fragile.

Until this very afternoon she had never truly measured the influence of her dear husband upon her foster-son! She had been convinced that discipline and obedience, which were second nature to the Captain would prevail once again over his qick mind and lively spirit!

'Sit!' She repeated and Haldir obeyed, as expected. 'Now, what do you want to know, before we get down to the issue?'

'You tell me what Mithrandir is hidding under his pointy hat!' Haldir replied rather reasonable. He had a strange kind of gut feeling, that he would not like the answer very much.

'Some time ago our friend wandered through the forestlands of King Thranduil and came across a strange rumour. Rumour is perhaps even too strong a word...it was more like a lore, a story you tell children at night to frighten them. It was the story of a shadow that has befallen the Amon Lanc. When he went to Thranduil's capital to see for himself, he came across our kin in a very depressed mood. Many were talking about moving away from the Amon Lanc and further northward and even cousin Thranduil seemed no longer in his right spirit and was thinking of giving up the place, calling his home no longer by its name but simply saying, that their place had fallen under the spell of the deadly nightshade. '

The Captain nodded. He had heard of this rumour some time ago from wardens of Thranduil, whom he befriended. And while chasing the marauding yrch they had taken a shortcut on the Old Forest Road where he and his wardens had all had a very nasty feeling that only lifted after crossing behind the rain shadow of the Misty Mountains.

When he thought of it properly: They had not been chasing those yrch into that direction. It was, as if....the creatures had been on the run to a very specific place they considered a safe heaven!

'Why did Mithrandir not ask Thranduil for help?' Haldir asked Galadriel.

It was rather curious to get yourself some assitance from Lothlorien, when the issue was with the Great Greenwood, more so when Thranduil was not known for his particular fondness of other elves meddling in his internal affairs and least of all, when that other elf was Galadriel, the Lady of Lorien!

'Thranduil seemed not in his right mind!' Galadriel murmured softly. '...as if he was fading...as if all his folks on and around the Amon Lanc were fading! He would not hearken to Mithrandir's plea for help, saying that he needed all his wardens to see to the safety of his people and determine what was going on!'

'I suppose that our friend Mithrandir has already an idea, My Lady!' Haldir gave a deep sigh, '...or else he would not ask for me to help him. He needs someone who understands those yrch and goblin, when they babble between themselves?'

The Lady shook her head. 'No, fair child! He needs someone with memories of the past. He needs your memories of a particular night and of a very peculiar presence. Although he is very wise and knowledgeable, he fears that he may not be able to see clear in this specific case.'

Haldir paled. 'No!' He whispered softly. 'This is impossible! This cannot be! Naneth, I saw it with my own eyes, Celeborn has seen it and Elrond and I do not know how many other survivors of that battle. He is no more, he was destroyed!'

Galadriel smiled. 'Perhaps! She replied simply,' But the One Ring was not destroyed, only lost.'

'It could be one of the Nine, My Lady, a shadow of evil and malice whose un-dead existence is bound to the One Ring. Their arsenal of deadly armaments was not confined to physical weapons only, they were surrounded by an aura of terror, which affected all but the most powerful living creatures and their breath was poisonous. Their cries caused terror and despair and their Lord, the Black Easterling was most notorious for his practice of black sorcery!'

The Lady nodded. 'It could be, Haldir! And this would be already bad enough, if one of the Nine tried to sneak into the Great Greenwood or Lothlorien to bring despair and fear to elvenkind. Will you go with Mithrandir in order to find out what is happening? Will you lend him your memories and your sword?'

Celeborn's Captain simply nodded.' If this is your biding, My Lady, then I must go with him. Alas I have the feeling that it is utter madness and it would be better, if old Mithrandir stayed safely in Lorien and let me search after this rumour with a company of stout and battle-hardened wardens!'

'He insists!'

'So be it!'

***

Olorin gave a satisfied grin. He had obtained what he wanted and all the better, if Celeborn's Captain believed him still to be just a wise, elderly man with some curious knowledge of lore and magic. This would make their quest most certainly much more enjoyable...even if he feared, that their final discovery would not give great reason for merrymaking!


	5. Celebrian's Premonitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 4 Celebrian's Premonitions  
  
Celebrian strolled down the path to the herbal gardens of Lothlorien. She felt relaxed, having shared a cosy lunch with a bunch of childhood friends and very much at ease, since all her habitual duties and obligations including her beloved but nevertheless rather demanding husband Elrond had been left behind in Imladris.

From time to time it did her a world of good to leave behind the turbulent Heaven, where hospitality was freely given to elves, men and dwarves. Elrond did not only keep an excessively open house, but also an open table and it was expected that she would preside with her spouse over all the meals, which habitually were followed by lengthy social gatherings in the Hall of Fire or merrymaking in their extensive gardens.

Although she thoroughly enjoyed company and meeting new faces, it became occasionally very stressful to be always there for others and hardly have a private life of your own. Then she retreated for a while to her childhood home of Lothlorien and her undemanding family, who allowed her to pursue her own interests and never imposed upon her time.

When Silraen had answered a call for assistance from Anysse the Herb Mistress of Lorien, which was probably nothing less then a hidden plea from her foster-brother, who yearned for his lady-love and tried to hide this yearning behind some silly excuse, that was more then transparent to all those who knew about this rather amusing never-ending courtship, Celebrian had decided on the spot to bid Elrond good bye, discourage her merry brood of three to spoil the fun by joining themselves to the journey and picked up her ever-ready travel bag to accompany her husbands apothecary.

She chuckled softly: Elrond would be mad with rage, when Haldir finally won his day and made Silraen stay with him in Lorien. She smiled at the image of a dark-haired elven lord whose natural colours were enhanced by bright red cheeks and some swelling veins on his temples. These -she had decided long ago- were definitively neither elven nor Maia heritage but pure and simple human, for Elrond was the one and only specimen of their kind she had ever seen with such special features.

It was always very funny, when he threw one of his fits of temper, which were so much in contradiction with his habitual settled and calm appearance. She had some kind of a gut-feeling that the time for her husband's great show would come very soon: Over the last few days she had observed the apothecary and her foster-brother with great amusement. He was chasing her like a hardly grown elfling and she was running from him like a frightened hare, but they ended up always together and then would disappear for hours in the depths of the forest only to return dishevelled and with slightly un-orderly garb.

She also knew that Orophin had been secretly stocking up his impressive wine cellar with some nice bottles from Dorwinion and her father- although hardly fond of the Naugrim- had send a elf of confidence to Khazad-Dum with a small pouch full of the most wonderful moonstones she had ever seen. She had tried to nag Celeborn, but he was inhabitually tight-lipped and had only waved away her questions with some non-committal remarks about the fine weather and how sad it was that Arwen had not found the time to accompany her to Lorien.

When she finally arrived in the Herb Garden, she found it desperately empty of Anysse's girls, as she had expected. So once again, Haldir had won in their little game and mischievously dragged Silraen from her work!

She let her eyes wander over the place lazily and already prepared to return to Caras Galadhon and her friends, when she suddenly realized, that the garden was not altogether empty: Silraen almost perfectly blended in with the environment. Between the dark green dress, her dark hair and the spot of grass on which she sat , she would have been invisible if it would not have been for the pale blue and white cloth on her lap. Elrond's apothecary sat like a statue under a blooming elder tree, staring at a wicker basket and looking entirely lost.

Celebrian felt a sudden rush of anger: Her thoughtless bully of a foster-brother had probably messed it up once more, forgetting their daily rendezvous over some boring report from his fences or the complaints of one of his obnoxious wardens concerning their working shifts.

Ever since she had known Haldir, he had been a terrible spoil-sport! At a glimpse of her father's eye he would abandon whatever he did, bow and run back to his duty like possessed! She loved him dearly, but he had always been the greatest bore in their family, only outmatched by Celeborn himself. And Adar did not count, for he was rather unique; he had been born a spoil-sport!

Celebrian gathered her skirt and accelerated. She had to find out what that great bully had done to poor Silraen. Already after her foster-brother's last visit to Imladris, the apothecary had been in a foul mood for weeks...Silraen the gay sprite had been brooding for days on end over some completely useless herb lore from the long-lost realm of Elendil, which was so full of faults that Elrond seemed to keep it only for matters of completeness in his library!

She snorted and took a small stone wall like a racing horse, carelessly stomping on several innocent seedlings that asked nothing of elvenkind and only wanted to grow in peace. Haldir would get a piece of her sisterly mind if her suspicions were confirmed. Why couldn't he simply get down to his knees and ask Silraen to be his till time would ended! They were made for each other! Everybody knew it. Even her father, who was not the most perceptive ellon in the lands of Arda!

Celebrian's run came to an impromptu halt, when Silraen stood up and put the cotton cloth back over the forsaken wicker basket.

'Would you care for some strawberries and almond cake?' The desperate elleth asked in a voice that proved that her foster-brother was nothing but a little monster with a curved blade and a heart made of stone.

'Dear! What did he do this time? What did my awful brother do to you?' Celebrian gathered her breath and took both Silraen's arms in a fierce deadlock.

The apothecary looked at her master's spouse with surprise. Something or someone had deeply upset the Lady of Rivendell. She had come down to the gardens in a run, as if all the minions of Sauron were at her heels.

'Celebrian! My Lady! What happened? Has someone been disrespectful with you? Did this nasty sprite Orophin pull one of his horrible tricks?'

Silraen had been so absorbed by her thoughts of Haldir and his sudden disappearance together with the soldier and had been pondering what could have befallen the realm of Lorien to make the Lord or the Lady interrupt their afternoon in such a manner, that she not even listened to Celebrian's outbreak.

When they had entered these lands together, everything had been as usual...even the Captain's mischievous grin on the borders. It had been an established tradition for ages that the Lord Celeborn would leave his Captain alone, while she dwelled in Lorien. Everybody seemed to find entertainment in their never-ending courtship and nobody interfered. Some -she had heard- were even placing bets on when the Captain of the Galadhrim would finally win over Lord Elrond's apothecary. Although their kin could be terribly serious and to the point when need arose, the were -first and foremost- sprite and children of the light!

'What did my brother do to you, this time!' Celebrian took a deep breath, lifted the cotton cloth and picked a blood-red strawberry to calm her emotions.

'He left with a messenger, My Lady!' Silraen replied matter of factly, picking the two goblets and the wine bottle and serving Celebrian and herself a good shot of nice red Dorwinion.

'He came and after a while a messenger came and then he went away without a word, leaving me with our lunch and no explanation. I do not think he meant any harm, Celebrian. It was just pretty strange and I had a very bad feeling about this messenger and Haldir.'

Celebrian gathered her skirts and glid down into the soft grass. Although lunch had been rather generous, she looked with yarning in her eyes on the almond cake. Haldir was a bore, but he had a hand for cakes and tasty morsels! Wonder, if you need to fed that solid carcass of his; she doubted that he lived on spring water and lembas only.

Silraen sat down beside the Lady of Rivendell and took herself a tasty fresh strawberry. They were truly delicious. Once upon a time and when she had been in a fay mood, she had told Haldir that if not for his good character and pleasant being, she'd be rather capable to live with him just for his skills as a cook.

She bit the strawberry and smiled: These First-Age ellons seemed all to be quite capable to look after themselves and take care of a homely talan! If there were more of them left, every reasonable elleth in Arda would try to get hold of one of them and bind them with chains of iron! Clean houses, washed and mended cloths, good food on your table and ....no complaints or remarks, when you followed your own tastes and destiny. Compared to their younger brethren, who had not lived through the dark years they were quite the catch.

'I believe that Haldir had a very good reason to disappear without a word.' She told Celebrian demurely. 'He's the most considerate ellon, I have ever met, you know.'

Celebrian broke off another piece of cake and took a healthy bit. Haldir was most certainly a bore, but Elrond's cooks could always take a lesson with him on making delicious cakes! 'My brother considerate! Silraen, please. He is not. He is obsessed with his job, obsessed with Lorien and obsessed with each and every whim of my father. They are monsters! Have you ever seen Elrond being considerate...or Glorfindel...or Erestor? They are all mad.'

Silraen chuckled and her gloomy mood lifted considerably. Celebrian had a dry sense of humour and when it came to make an audience bark with laughter, you could always count on her. She had always loved the spouse of Elrond, for she was clever, easy-going and unpretentious....and most of all, she had her heart in the right place. She had never understood how some of the guests of Elrond's heaven could believe that Celebrian was just a spoiled and hare-brained elleth with noble origins and pretty clothes. She grinned.

'They are all mad, My Lady. You are right. And I presume that I must make Haldir pay for this 'insult', even if it is definitively no fault of his....'

'You must, dear! What was this Manish saying? Beat your wife at least once a day! If you do not know why, she most certainly will! I believe, there is some wisdom in these words and...my brother enjoys it, when you are mad at him.'

The Lady of Rivendell took another bit of the cake and another sip of the fine Dorwinion.' Alas, I doubt it is really his fault: You said, a messenger arrived! Naneth would never spoil your free time with him without a pretty good reason. She's the first, who'd like nothing better then my stiff-necked brother finally settled with a clever and good-natured elleth. There is something going on in this realm, Silraen. And I am convinced, that you and I must find out.' Celebrian looked at the diminished bottle of Dorwinion and the empty wicker basket. 'And since we have finished this nice lunch, I believe that you and I should embark upon a quest. As I see, your students are gone and nobody is waiting for you. Come! Put aside your grief and follow me into the heart of Elvendom on Earth. We shall inquire with my very best sources and we shall be much the wiser when the day ends.'

Silraen pushed some stray crumps of cake from her robes and covered the empty basket with its cotton cloth: Celebrian was right! Someone was hiding something from them. Only determined action and a thorough enquiry with trustworthy sources would shed light on the mystery. And with the wine bottle empty, her afternoon free and Haldir nowhere in sight, what else could she do then follow her Lady's bidding.

'You are right, Celebrian!' She replied with determination. 'T'is pretty strange and....I do not like this. We will find out together.'

Slightly inebriate, but in a wonderful mood, the two ellith left the herbals gardens of Lorien on their quest for truth and answers.


	6. Celeborn's Suspicions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 5 Celeborn's Suspicions  
  
The Lord of Lorien gave a thoughtful look to the reports on his desk. With Silraen in Lothlorien, he had taken it upon himself to see to the defences of his realm and give his Captain some well-merited days of respite. He could not say, that managing the wardens was his favourite pastime and that he relished sending out orders to the Galadhrim posted along their borders, but he understood, that occasionally it was necessary to let Haldir off the hook and allow him to pursue his own interests.

He sighed deeply. Hopefully they would finally end their never-ending game of hide and seek and Haldir would convince Lord Elrond's apothecary that Lothlorien was a pretty good place to live and work in.

He liked the elleth: She was good-natured and easy-going, had a bright mind and was pleasant company. And she completed his foster-son and brought a healthy lively twinkle into his usually serious eyes. He had been encouraging Haldir for ages to ask her the decisive question and make her his, but the younger elf -although obviously more then taken with Elrond's apothecary and deeply in love - had been hesitating. At first sight and to those who did not know Haldir inside out, as he did, the endless courtship may have appeared like a distraction of two sprites, who took great pleasure from a nice little game, taking their time to heighten the suspense for the onlookers. But he knew better: His foster-son was not unwilling to commit himself for selfish reasons! He was simply afraid, that his chosen soldierly profession and the lengthy absences from home would after some time discourage Silraen.

Celeborn stood up, stretched his aching back and went over to the window of his library: He smiled; there had been a time in his long life, when he had known similar fears. Long ago in Doriath, when he had courted a free spirit whom he had named Galadriel, for her golden hair and the gleaming light that hovered over her, he had been convinced that she would be discouraged by his absences on duty for his uncle Elu Thingol!

He had been so wrong: In the end it had been him, who had been discouraged, while Galadriel roamed all over Arda in pursuit of her own ambitions and seeking after her own destiny. He had been discouraged but never upset and from time to time, he had even found it entertaining, when the Man-Maiden from the house of Finwe, clad in white and on first sight as fragile as a rose had shown her strength to those, who believed themselves to be mighty and powerful.

Celeborn had no regrets about his choice and the elleth, with whom he had shared the last five millennia...apart perhaps one. And this sole regret was his foster-son and the difficult path in life, the younger elf had chosen: He would have been gentler with Haldir, if she would have been at his side, more considerate and less rough. He would have understood that destiny had entrusted him with a fragile young creature that needed his love and attention and not his knowledge as a warrior and statesman.

If Galadriel would have been with him in Eregion, when he decided to simply keep the elfling that her messenger had found in the wilderness, Haldir would have had an easier childhood, less demanding and less stressful.

Even today, after almost five milennia had passed, he still felt slightly guilty when he looked at his foster-son. He had raised the perfect warrior; devote to his oath of service and duty, never amiss, always there for those in need and always ready to put himself into harms way for the greater good. Instead of toys, he had presented his elfling with a little bow and arrows and instead of running with him in the meadows, he had taught him how to wield a sword. And he had allowed him to grow up before his time and to go, where no youthful elf should go and to do, what no youth should do. He had always loved Haldir dearly, but he had never been able to show this love in simple terms of tender affection. He had never been able to put an arm around his foster-son's shoulder and give him some basic fatherly advice.

Celeborn shook his head. It had been so different with their daughter Celebrian! He had not repeated his earlier mistakes.

Giving a short glance to the sun over the forest, he decided to finish his working day early and make some amends. He'd hunt down Haldir and give him that long overdue bout of fatherly advice...at least concerning ellith...and he'd tell him, that it was possible to be the Captain of the Wardens of this realm and have a life of his own!

It was -he felt it deep in his heart- not too late. And Silraen would make a fine addition to their family.

Determined and full of good intentions, Celeborn left his office and decended into the streets of Caras Galadhon. He had ordered a pretty moonstone necklace as wedding gift from the Naugrim of Khazad-Dum and his messenger had returned from the dwarven halls with a promise that everything would be ready for Midsummer Night. Galadriel was very much occupied with that old fellow Mithrandir, who had entered his realm on eagle's wings a couple of days ago and would not mess up his project. All he had to do, was to find his Captain and talk some sense into the stubborn ellon.

Haldir had been wandering aimlessly through the streets of Caras Galadhon for a while. When Galadriel had dismissed him from her private gardens, he had first intended to return to Silraen and his actual plans of the day. But somehow he felt to tense to impose himself upon an innocent elleth in a good mood and determined to spend a pleasant afternoon in the sunshine.

He knew himself all to well to take the road down to the herbal gardens: What Galadriel asked of him, did not please him at all, but he understood, that it was his duty to do the Lady's biding and therfore he would accompany that foolhardy wizard on his mad quest.

It was possible that a Ringwraith had found his way into the Great Greenwood, but he believed that it was a complete insult to Thranduil and his Silvan folk, if Lothlorien started to mess around in their affairs. Had it not been for Galadriel, he would have send a messenger to his Greenwood counterpart, adverting Thirion, that something curious was going on at their borders and then let it be...until the Greenwood Wardens would have made up their minds if or not, some support from Lorien was welcome.

He did not appreciate when outsiders started to mess up his own business or teach him lessons on what to to on his fences! Although he could abide with a good advice or two from Elrond's Captain Glorfindel for family reasons, he knew exactly how he would react to Thranduil personally messing around in Lorien! Not, that he had any cause with the son of Oropher. They even got along very well, compared to the rotten relations between the King and his Lady Galadriel, but nonetheless: Lorien was Lorien and Greenwood was Greeenwood and...no matter what odd feelings some elderly wizard harboured or how strange a bunch of marauding yrch behaved.

Haldir gave a short glance to the sun that was peeping through the Mallorn leaves and decided to take his bad mood straight to the 'Blooming Appletree' , the favourite haunt of the Lorien Wardens, where warm meals were served at all times of the day and a good pint of Naugrim ale was readily available.

No matter what Galadriel had asked of him and what this dotty wizard wanted to explore: The best thing to appease his mind and get things straight were food and a drink. And then he would find Silraen and make his excuses for his abominable behaviour!

Celeborn had been roaming all over Caras Galadhon without finding even a hint of his foster son. Exhausted and thirsty he decided to stop at the wardens' tavern and get himself a mug of ale and some sustenance. He was rather confident that one of Haldir's soldiers would know where the Captain was.

He settled down on a free bench, greeting some of his guards and signalling to the maid that he'd need something substantial. This was the only part of his job as nominal commander-in-chief of Loriens impressive forces that he truly enjoyed: Sharing a mug and a plate with the wardens! Since the disaster of Mount Doom he was completely disgusted with everything war and he had gladly pushed the safety and security of his realm and his sword into Haldir's capable hands.

The maid gave him a broad smile and signaled that she had understood his needs. Only moments later a tasty stew and a huge mug appeared in front of the lord and he thanked his salvaging angel. It was not the most exclusive kitchen in Elvendom, but the 'Blooming Appletree' always served a good, hearthy meal. Celeborn decided to simply sit it out and tuck in in the meantime. The stew was wonderful!


	7. The Captain's Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 6 The Captain's Confession  
  
When Haldir finally reached the tavern, he saw to his great surprise that Celeborn, instead of doing his job and taking care of Lothlorien's security, had decided for a late lunch...or rather an early evening meal.

Knowing the Lord's profound dislike with the habitual administrative drudgeries of a large force of men-at-arms, the Captain felt a quick bout of culpability: Already twice this year ...no, in fact three times, if he included Silraen's ongoing visit to the forest realm, poor Celeborn had been obliged to do his job! And all this terrible inconvenience only because he - a grown ellon of almost five thousand years of age was incapable to ask a grown elleth of about four and a half thousand years of age, if she could imagine to share his life and talan for good.

He decided to go over to his foster-father, drink a mug of ale with him and make some amends, telling the elder elf, that he had finally decided to make his pledge to Silrean and ask her in marriage. Haldir frowned: His beautiful sprite would not be terribly enchanted, when she would learn immediately after his pledge that before they could make things happen and bind, he'd have to leave her for an undetermined duration of time.

No! He hesitated for a moment, before he continued on his way to Celeborn's table: He'd first tell her about Galadriel's orders and then ask her! It was only fair play to give her the choice to say 'yes' or 'nay' in full knowledge of the cause. It would be bad taste to first lure her and then instantly deceive her! Haldir gave the maid of the 'Blooming Apple a signal, that he'd take the same as his lord, then sat down in front of his foster-father.

'How's going, Adar?' He asked. There was a hint of guilt in his voice.

Celeborn put down his spoon and smiled. 'Just the elf, I was looking for. I've turned Caras Galadhon upside down to find you, son. But you had disappeared from the surface of Arda and I decided to wait here and sit it out with this nice stew and some ale. You want some?'

'I already told the maid to bring me lunch.' Haldir replied good-naturedly. 'You are kept busy by my wardens?'

Celeborn made a dismissive sign with his hand.' T'is nothing, son. Just some reports from the fences, some wardens, who try to negotiate their schedules and an unannounced visitor to the realm. Do not worry and enjoy your free time.'

The maid placed a steaming bowl and a huge, ice-cold mug in front of the Captain of the Galadhrim.

Haldir gave her a smile and pulled some coins from his pocket. 'You get another mug for my adar and the bill is on me tonight. What's on for dessert?'

The maid pulled a small piece of parchment. 'I still have apple cake, but you must decide immediately if you want some and there is blackberry pie and fresh strawberries left.'

Haldir gave Celeborn an encouraging look.

'The cake, son.' The Lord of Lothlorien replied matter-of-factly, 'and if the bill's on you, I'll take a sip of apple brandy right away with the dessert.'

Haldir nodded. 'The same for me, Tary! And some cheese and fresh bread, if you please.'

The maid took notes, gave him a kindly tap on the shoulder and hurried over to a group of freshly arrived wardens, who argued loudly over something and seemed tremendously thirsty.

'So how are things going, Haldir!' Celeborn took a spoon full of stew and bit heartily into the crusty bread.

'Well....until Galadriel decided to spoil my afternoon, adar?' He tucked in and relished the tasty rabbit, fresh vegetables and brown beer. ' I was set in my mind, had everything prepared and lured Silraen almost from her duties, when the Lady sent me an urgent messenger and requested my immediate attention! What do you think of that dotty wizard Mithrandir?'

Celeborn gave a deep sigh. 'The night is still long, Haldir. There's time to track down your lady, fall to your knees and swear that such a thing will never ever happen again in all the ages of Arda to come...and believe me, she'll love the show. I did it once with your naneth in Doriath....it worked! That Mithrandir fellow...I doubt, he's what he pretends to be. I have an odd feeling about him and Cirdan has been particularly tight lipped recently. I do not think that he's of the second-born, Haldir. He has something about him...' The Lord of Lorien frowned and searched for the right words, '.....it reminds me of that nasty feeling I had, when your naneth turned up with the blasted ring of Celebrimbor's. Mithrandir has a strange aura of magic around him. No simple elven magic, like yours or mine....t'is something unhealthy and rather too powerful for a simple first-born. Already when he and his friends arrived in Mithlond, I did not believe that they were simply on some kind of emissary mission from Ingwe. Why should the High King of all Eldar suddenly take an interest in us and send emissaries into Middle-earth? We all made it sufficiently clear, that we did not intend to sail to the Undying Lands. And I can hardly believe that he would have send five elderly humans. Have you ever heard of humans in Valinor, apart Elrond's sire? That is nonsense. There is more to these five then meets the eye. What does Galadriel want?'

Haldir winced inwardly. His Lady had bidden him to keep his tongue and not reveal what she had asked of him and he had promised her to remain silent until further notice. He looked at his mug and then at Celeborn. Did his Lady's command apply to her spouse, too?

'I am in a dilemma, adar.' He answered the Lord of Lorien truthfully. ' It was requested of me to not say a word to anybody.'

Celeborn chewed and swallowed.' Then you must keep your tongue and take your own council, Haldir. If she does not wish anybody to know, this may include me until she decides for herself to tell or not to tell. What about Silraen?'

Haldir looked at his stew thoughtfully. What about Silreaen? He would not betray his Lady's trust, if he'd ask his foster-father some manly advice. Silraen and his intents concerning the beautiful elleth had nothing to do with Mithrandir's project to investigate the mystery of the Amon Lanc and the rather strange behaviour of his bunch of marauding yrch. So ....

'Do you think it is correct to ask an elleth if she'd be your wife, if you had to tell her in the same line, that unfortunately before you could truly commit yourself and make things official you were obliged to leave her for an undetermined duration of time and throw yourself into unknown dangers?' He took his mug, turned it thoughtfully between his hands and looked at Celeborn.

'You do not go, because this is your pleasure, Haldir! She has known for a while that you have certain duties to this realm and a job. It is not as if she is completely unaware that you are the Captain of Lorien.'

Haldir chuckled. A typical answer from Celeborn; full of common sense. But was common sense just the thing to figure out matters of the heart?

'Adar, Silraen is not one of my wardens, who either obeys orders or takes his leave from service.'

The Lord of Lorien smiled, finished his meal and sat back comfortably. 'No, she is not. I am perfectly aware of the difference between an elleth and a warden and not so heartless, as you may think. But take this issue from both sides: You can continue playing games with her, say nothing and simply disappear one bright summer morning without telling her, what you should have told her ages ago. And you can trust, that she will accept this cowardice of yours and wait for you...to continue this endless game, where you both have left, before you went away. This is the easy solution, the easy way out. You can tell yourself, that you have your duties to Lorien and that you swore an oath to do our biding and you may even convince yourself, that this was the right choice. But deep in your heart you will always know, that it was just a lie, an easy way out. The other solution is to be frank with Silraen: tell her, what you can without betraying my Lady's trust. Explain to her, why you have to leave. Give her good reasons. Reasons she can understand! If -after such a long time of knowing you, she still has doubts concerning her heart and mind, she will tell you. You take a certain risk: she may refuse what you propose and return to Imladris with Celebrian. You will perhaps leave these lands with a very heavy heart....but at least, you will go and know that you have done the right thing and made the proper choice. It would be pretty unfair to deceive her. She merits better, Haldir.'

Haldir nodded. Celeborn basically confirmed, what he had been thinking. He would talk to her and tell her the truth; the truth of his duties as much as the truth of his heart. Then he would go with Mithrandir to find out, what troubled the borders of their lands and the Amon Lanc.

After she had dismissed Celeborn's Captain, Olorien left his hiding place in Galadriel's garden and joined her on her bench.

'Now, I think, this went rather well.' He told her, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 'Hopefully, Haldir is willing to leave immediately. I have the bad feeling that with each day that passes, the dark shadow is gathering strength. The yrch you told me about were certainly drawn by him. He will call ever more of their kind from their hiding places and guide them towards these lands. The Greenwood elves with whom I discussed spoke also about other strange creatures been drawn towards the hill and its surroundings. Also Thranduil was in no mood to discuss with me, I got hold of his youngest son for a while. He related that while hunting with his brothers to the south of the Amon Lanc, they have found curiously large spider webs in a cavern from where earlier on a tunnel led into the hill. He spoke to me of the abandoned city of King Durin and the dwarven mines he had explored in his early youth and of the stench that now emanated from this tunnel system.'

Galadriel frowned. Her wardens never ventured so far into the wilderlands on the other side of the Anduin, but some had spoken of terrible howls, brought over the waters of the river by Northern winds. Neither wolf nor hound, did they say, but something dark and unearthly. They had never seen the sources of these noises, but the Lady remembered the werewolves of Sauron in Angband and their fearsome leader Drauglin. 'Alas,' she said softly,' it was never known, if Huan killed them all or if some escaped into the wild and survived the sundering of Beleriand. They may have mated with lesser wolves and created a new, dark tribe that is now travelling towards the shadow.' She turned the ring on her finger and closed her eyes.' I have questioned my mirror for days at end and all it will show me is darkness. It is impossible to tell, if the spirit of the great Deceiver has returned from the abyss of nothingness, or if one of the Nine is trying to make himself an abode of shadows. And if it is one of them, he will soon call out to his eight brethren and try to gather them. Did you take council with the Lord Saruman, my friend?'

Olorin shook his head. After their landing in the Heavens of Mithlonde Curumo, together with Morinehtar and Romestamo had made his way to the east. He had not known of his destiny for more then two hundred years now and he did not know, how to find his old friend.

Galadriel seemed to read his thoughts.'So he has still not returned from his eastward quest?'

Olorin gave a deep sigh. When they had come to Cirdan's Heavens and after revealing themselves officially to the shipwright of Mithlond, something most curious had happened; something that not even the Valar may have expected.

Cirdan wise of many ages had taken Olorin aside and wordlessly slipped a trinket into his hand. Then he had left the five of Valinor to their own devices, disappearing from everybodies sight until the five were decided to set out upon their quest. And once more the shipwright took aside Olorin. After a long deep look into the grey wizard's eyes he bade him farewell and told him, that he knew wisdom and greatness when he saw it!

Olorin had been surprised at this inhabitually behaviour and also at the rather un-courteous attitude of the elven lord towards the leader of their group Curumo and his blatant ignoring of Morinehtar and Romestamo. Only to Aiwendil he bade his farewells, telling the brown wizard that he should chose his friends wisely and consider well with whom his loyalties lay.

Curumo had been tremendously upset about the unruly elven lord, when they rode from Mithlond and he and Olorien had parted their ways in an icy silence, for Olorin would not tell the white wizard, what the Lord of Mithlond had pushed into his hand, right after their landing!

'What is it Mithrandir!' The Lady Galadriel asked softly, opening her eyes. I can feel that something troubles you. Alas my powers are not enough to tell the reason of your distress.'

Olorin stood up and went over to the Lady's Mirror. He stared into the empty bassin, fighting with his own conscience, if or not he should open himself to the daughter of Finwe. For two centuries and a half he had carried in his heart the burden of the spiteful parting with his friend Curumo and the terrible feeling of guilt over Cirdan's present. The earthly form of his spirit had many advantages, but also some inconveniences: While he had dwelt in the gardens of Lorien on Valinor, he had been free of such feelings. A mighty spirit he had been, second only to the Valar themselves. But now, clothed in flesh he was no longer free and felt all the urges, pleasures and fears of flesh and blood as would the humblest of the second-born of Iluvatar. He gave a deep sigh, then he fingered from under his grey robes a small but solid necklace of silver and held its pendant up, so that the Lady of the Golden Wood could see.

When Galadriel overcame her initial shook to see the third elven ring -the Ring of Fire- dangling from Olorin's chain, the Maiar explained to her, how Cirdan had given it to him and how Curumo had resented the secrecy of his dealings with the shipwright and his unwillingness to reveal the elven lords gift.

The Lady of Lorien smiled and walked over to Olorin's side, taking his rugged hand in hers and padding it gently. 'T'was Cirdan's to give, my old friend and it is nobody's business to whom he wanted to entrust his ring. The Shipwright is very wise and he can see deep into the hearts of elves and men. I am convinced that he had his very own reason to entrust you with Narya. You know the craft of Celebrimbor and Narya the Kindler shall give thee hope in thy quest and hope to all those who will stand by your side. Do not despair, for I heard from Cirdan, that while the first of your order is great in wisdom and lore, he as you feels urges and pleasures and fears. But as thou overcomest thy grief, he shall overcome his and he will understand that Cirdan had only one ring to gift and not five.'

Olorin took her fragile, slender hand into his and blew a chaste kiss on its palm. 'Wise is the Lady of Lorien and wise are her councils. I shall hearken to you, my dear and go with peace of mind on this quest and whence we know, with whom we have dealings on the borders of the great Greenwood, I shall ask of my friend Aiwendil to send the birds of the heavens after Curumo and we shall all take council together, with him as our guide.' He gave a courteous bow to Galadriel.' And now, with your leave, I will go and seek out your Captain and tell him, that I wish to leave these lands as soon as possible.'

The Lady smiled at her guest.' You will find him most certainly with my dear husband and I believe, the best place to look for the two is in the tavern of the 'Blooming Appletree', for I feel that before he can go from this lands, Haldir has an urgent private matter to settle and he will ask my Lord Celeborn's advice on the subject.'


	8. The Matters of a Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 7 The Matters of a Wizard  
  
For many an hour the two companions had roamed Caras Galadhon in pursuit of information about strange events, that may have brought upon Silraen's Captain sudden, mysterious orders from his Lady. But now, with the sun settling behind the line of the Mallorn trees and their feet right sore, they had to admit utter defeat. Nothing special had been mentioned; even Rumil's wife Anysse, who habitually heard the herb grow was unaware of any dangers to the Golden Wood, that may necessitate immediate attention from its Captain. She had told Celebrian and Silraen about the hunt after a bunch of marauding yrch which had preceeded their arrival and taken Haldir together with her husband, her brother-in-law and a great group of wardens deep into the Misty Mountains for weeks on end. But the yrch had been destroyed and while some of the casualties were still in the care of the healers, the burned-down village close to the dwarven halls of Khazad Dum was no longer topic for chit-chat or wild speculations.

'Perhaps her mirror has shown something to our Lady and she wanted to partake her vision with him!' Anysse had speculated over a cup of hot mint tea, only to dismiss the thought hardly an instant later. Celebrian was of the same opinion: Her mother would not bother Haldir over a vision, if this vision did not directly concern the safety of the forest realm.

'Perhaps she wanted to investigate if you made some progress!' Orophin had chuckled mischieviously, pointing a long, slender finger at Silraen. ' She's a rather solid bet on you two getting finally settled before Midsummer Eve....and our Lady hates to loose bets with me, for it always costs her dearly.' The evil sprite had even shown his small pocket book with a listing of elves engaged in the nasty little game and Silraen had stormed from his talan in a fit of rage that would have frightened a dragon.

Aeglironion the notoriously chatty and well-informed hoof-smith of the guards had only shrugged his broad shoulders and offered the two curious ellith a cool mug of apple wine and some fatherly advice to try and get hold of Haldir's second-in-command Aiglironion, who'd be the one best informed about the Captain's intentions or possible orders for the wardens and Aiglironion had been unavailable for further enquiries, since he had left to the Southern fences of Lorien already eight days earlier, as his surprised wife informed her Lady's daughter and Elrond's apothecary. And with a tiny little sting in her voice Allassiel told them, that this ride to the borders and absence of her beloved were tightly linked to a certain arrival in Lothlorien. Then she had hushed the two companions rather hurriedly from her talan, telling them, that with her spouse absent on duty, all the laborious tasks of the household were upon her!

Celebrian and Silraen, sobered by their lengthy hunt and exhausted from climbing up and down the endless staircases of Caras Galadhon finally came to the conclusion that the last spot to retrieve perhaps some concise intelligence would be the tavern of the 'Blooming Appletree' were Haldir's wardens took their meals or lazed around during their spare moments.

When the two ellith reached finally the tavern that wound itself around the trunk of an enormous tree with intricately carved pillars that all depicted apple blossoms and apple leaves, they realized immediately that they had made the right decision. The tavern was not only filled up to the last seat: At a small table in a cosy corner, the immediately identified Lord Celeborn's silver mane and the broad shoulders of the object of their curiosity. The two ellon sat in companionable silence. Each sipped from a small glass, while their empty plates stood abandoned in the middle of their table.

'Here you are.' Celebrian muttered.

'So it was probably nothing strange.' Silraen replied with a sigh of relief.

'Still to be seen.' The other elleth replied, getting hold of the maid Tary and explaining to her that they would take the same brew as the two lazy ellon in the corner. Then she pushed Silraen through the crowd of rowdy wardens over to her father's and Haldir's table.

The Lord of Lorien beamed and padded the empty chair next to his. 'Join us, Ladies!' He offered good-naturedly.

Haldir caught Silraen's eyes and gave her a sheepish smile. 'I am sorry, Love!' He muttered. Then he stood and offered her the other empty chair. 'T'was not my intent to give you insult, but....'

She gave him a happy smile, stood on her toe tips and blew a kiss on his cheek.' Do not worry; Haldir.' She whispered softly into his ear. 'No offence taken. The cake and the strawberries were delicious.'

He took her hand gently into his and held it for a long while, ignoring Celeborn as well as the boisterous Celebrian, who was pouring questions on the poor Lord of Lorien without taking her breath. 'I must talk to you, Silraen.' He replied.' Have you already plans made for tonight?'

She shook her head. It was a silly question: Whenever she dwelt in Lorien, her evenings and nights were his. Too few were the moments they could share with each other and too long were the days in between, when she and Haldir pursued their solitary destinies in Rivendell and Lorien.

He caressed her cheek with his free hand, caring neither for the boisterous wardens in the tavern, nor for Celeborn and Celebrian, who seemed to engage in some kind of argument. 'I had to go with him.' He explained in a low voice. 'T'was no silly game, Silraen.'

Silrean put her hand over his and leaned into his touch.' I knew, Haldir. I am not upset with you. Will you tell me why she called you? I had a bad feeling, when I saw her messenger.'

Olorin had finally found the 'Blooming Appletree'. Galadriel's indications of the wardens' tavern had been quite vague and it had taken some time to find the place. In the end he simply followed a group of elves clad in grey and dark green, hoping that they would go for a drink and not to the fences of Lothlorien. It was, as she had foretold: His soon-to-be companion of misfortune sat together with that Sinda Prince from Doriath, Elrond's terribly boisterous spouse Celebrian and a dark-haired fay, that could only be 'the urgent private matter' the Captain of the Galadhrim needed to settle, before he could leave Lothlorien.

Olorin took quick counsel with himself: He could either impose upon them and join them at their table and risk a delay in the Captain's 'private matters' or turn away and leave them alone and pack his small travelling bag to be ready in the morning. He gave a deep sigh; his travelling bag was ready. He did not need time to prepare. After their coming to Arda and Curumo leaving together with Morinehtar and Romestamo for the east, Aiwendil had made himself a home on the Western edge of the Great Greenwood, near the Gladden Fields on the Great River Anduin and hardly one hundred miles on bird's wings from Thranduil's capital on the Amon Lanc.

The brown wizard had given this abode the name Rhosgobel and it was not only equiped with all creature comforts but also well fenced. Having been close friends with Olorin in Valinor, Aiwendil had invited him to live in Rhosgobel and pursue their mission from this very convenient base camp. But Olorien had refused Aiwendil's proposition. He preferred to roam the North and the West of Middle-earth free and unattached, learning about its inhabitants, their traditions and their lore and so after more then two hundred and fifty years he still had nothing more to care for, then his staff, his well-worn travel cloak and his small travelling bag over the shoulder.

He slipped into the shadow of a tree, approaching the table of four on tip-toe: Celebrian and the Lord Celeborn were engaged in deep discussion. The spouse of Elrond fired questions at the speed of Galadhrim arrows, while Galadriel's husband nodded and sipped some honey coloured brew. T'was a bit one-sided, but they appeared both rather happy. Olorien turned his attention to the Captain and the dark-haired elleth. Even his sharp ears would not allow him to listen in on their conversation: He looked at her with yearning in his storm-grey eyes and she smiled at him in utter happiness. They seemed both deeply in love with each other and completely absorbed in a small world of their own. The Istari crept closer. A soft touch of his hand, a gentle squeeze of his fingers, an occasional nod or a smile. It looked as if the 'private matters' Artanis had spoken of where well under way. He chuckled! If he'd leave them alone now, the occasion to tell his future travel companion of his desire to leave right in the morning would be lost. Better to make it quick, interrupt them now and give the Captain and the Maiden a last peaceful night together.

With determination and billowing grey robes, Olorin stepped out from the shadows and into the red evening sun.


	9. Mithrandir's Torment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 8 Mithrandir's Torment  
  
Celebrian nudged her father's knee. The newcomer that pressed his way to the guests of the 'Blooming Appletree' was no elf and definitively not a warden of the Galadhrim. And he seemed to come straight for their table.

'Did you know , Mithrandir was in Lorien?' She asked her sire with a voice that was no longer boisterous and full of humour, but dead-serious.

She had met the elderly wizard on several occasions, when he decided to take breaks from his roaming of the wild lands in their heaven of Imladris. Since their very first encounter some two hundred years earlier, she had found him utterly charming and excellent company. But there was something behind these sparkling, blue eyes and carefree behaviour that seemed very odd; almost as if this curious fellow was playing the comedy of 'Mithrandir the Wise Man and Elf Friend'. She was convinced that her suspicion was not raised by something shadowy or unhealthy laying underneath, hidden deep inside the old fellow. It was more, as if he was cloaked in a veil of secrecy and mystery, a mystery that even her most perceptive husband Elrond had not yet lifted. And Elrond agreed with her on the matter of Mithrandir's 'fishiness'.

They had tried to worm things out from Cirdan of Mithlond, but the Shipwright was uncommonly tight-lipped whenever the subject came to the five wizards that had arrived in his Heaven from Valinor and almost immediately dispersed.

Three of them had gone -as far as she knew- straight into the East, never to be seen. One had taken to the mountains in the North, somewhere rather close to the borders of King Thranduil the 'Nasty' and the last - Mithrandir- appeared an untiring traveller with no place he called home.

He was a frequent visitor to all the elven realms of Middle-earth. But Gildor Inglorion had told her, that he also took great pleasures in exploring Breeland, Dunland and the Angle formed by the rivers Mitheithel and Bruinen, were over the last couple of hundred years a curious little folk had started to settle down. Originally these little people had lived on the lowest slopes and in the woods under the Misty Mountains and also on the marshes where the Gladden River met the Anduin. But around the same time the five mysterious elderly wizards from Valinor had landed in Cirdan's Heaven, these hairy-footed, small-sized creatures who obviously belonged to the race of the second born, since they were neither elves nor dwarves, had all together decided to undertake the perilous road over the hills.

It was also told, that occasionally Mithrandir would venture into what remained of the ancient Kingdom of Arnor. And now he suddenly turned up in Lorien and came straight for their table.

Celeborn gave a sigh and nodded. 'I knew that he was here, Celebrian. He has spend the last few days in the company of your mother, discussing matters with her, which she would not partake with me. I suppose he got bored with Elrond's endless banquets and merrymaking and is in need of more solid food and drink.' The Lord of Lorien kept a straight and serious face, but his eyes were laughing at his daughter. 'Let us invite this unexpected visitor to our table and perhaps we shall be the wiser about his secret designs after a glass or two of this excellent apple brandy.'

Haldir was already very much incline to take his leave from his Lord and the Lady Celebrian and to lead Silraen away from the boisterous tavern to a more private place, when his well-trained eye perceived billowing grey robes approaching their table with a determined stride.

'So much could be expected.' He thought gloomily. 'Galadriel has set him onto my track the very instant I agreed to go with him on his mad journey.' He laid his arm around Silraen's shoulder and pulled the elleth protectively against his solid chest. He would have appreciated some respite in order to speak with her in peace and explain things! The elleth leaned comfortably in and laid her head on his shoulder. She seemed completely unaware of the unwelcome intruder.

'A good eve to you, Lord Celeborn!' The wizard greeted Lorien's ruler cheerfully, 'And to you, My Lady Celebrian.' Then he bowed courteously before Silraen. 'We have not yet been introduced, fair lady, but I saw you some time ago in the lands of Imladris.'

Haldir gave a small sigh, took Silrean's hand and stood in front of the wizard. Also Mithrandir's presence was not welcome-at least not with him and at this very moment- his good education and manners won over his personal annoyance. He bowed slightly.' Allow me to name the Lady Silraen!' He said in his best 'Marchwarden-of-Lorien-on-official-duty voice.'

Mithrandir chuckled and acknowledged Haldir. 'It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lady.' He nodded. 'And you, Captain! For it was you, I was looking for.'

'I thought so.' Haldir murmured in a low voice, throwing the wizard a suspicious look.

'Will you sit with us, old friend?' Celeborn pointed to an empty chair, welcoming the mage smoothly to their table and saving his foster-son another tight-lipped and potentially undiplomatical remark.

Haldir did not miss his foster-father's cautioning finger, that motioned him to take his seat and be quiet. The had known each other for ages. Words were unnecessary for the one to understand perfectly well the designs of the other.

Celeborn felt Haldir's growing irritation with Mithrandir's presence and suspected immediately that this irritation came from the same source as his earlier unwillingness to discuss the Lady Galadriel's summons. He decided to take upon himself to save Haldir and what remained of his self-control and temper with lordly grace and elegance.

The Captain obeyed and took his place next to Silraen without further words. A cool mask of complete indifference settled on his fair face.

'So what brings you to our lands?' Celeborn immediately took over and he gave the maid Tary signal to bring more drink and another glass.

Olorin sight inwardly. That Prince of Doriath was asking the very question he could not answer in a crowded public place. He felt that Haldir had kept his tongue and the contents of his earlier discussion with Artanis from his lord and that the Lady of the Woods had not yet taken council with her spouse. Olorin knew that she had seen darkness rising in her mirror, but unable to interprete the image and unsure if his suspicions concerning a shadow rising close to Lorien and the Great Greenwood was correct, she must have felt it necessary to keep this issue only between themselves. But was this still possible? Olorin accepted the offered drink and tasted it. T'was time won, in which he did not need to answer the perceptive kinsman of Elu Thingol. There was only one clean solution for this dilemma: A cold-blooded lie!

Olorin gave his table companions a winning smile. 'I came to ask for your help, Lord Celeborn!' He stated matter-of-factly. He would feed them bits of knowledge they already had, trusting that the Captain would keep his tongue and his expressionless face. 'As you know, I arrived in these lands with several friends. But I lost the one dearest to me from sight, when I engaged on my explorations of this fascinating little folks that have wandered from close to your lands to the borders of the realm of the Lord Elrond and I greatly wish to find this friend again. I heard rumours that he - a great lover of nature and animals - has taken up residence somewhere between here and the realm of your cousin Thranduil. And since Thranduil is not aware of his abode, I requested of your lady a guide to lead me into the Misty Mountains. I did not believe it necessary to impose on you with such a humble, personal matter.' He lowered his eyes. 'She suggested that I take someone with me who not only knows these mountains, but also may lend hand with sword and bow, for it seems that recently gobblins and yrch have been seen.'

Haldir whinced inwardly. The old cheat was trying to deceive his lord , playing the dotty old man of lore and wisdom, who needed a protector. He cast a glance at Celeborn, but the elder elf made only a small sign with his hand, requesting to continue his game of chess with Mithrandir without being interrupted.

'And you have some indication where this friend dwells?' Lorien's Lord asked in his smoothest politician voice, beaming at Mithrandir.

The old fellow shrugged his shoulders. 'Not really. I will have to seek all over the Misty Mountains and perhaps even need to cross to the other side of the Anduin. My friend -his name is Radagast - is a great amateur of birds. He loves to study them. He is especially fond of large birds of prey.'

Haldir inwardly clapped his hands, recognizing Celeborn's great craft. He was pushing the wizard into a rather tight corner and Mithrandir would not get out unscathed. Why would you need the Captain of Lorien to simply undig the abode of a bird-loving elderly lore master? T'was not very logic. If for protection only, all his battle-hardened wardens could do or even one of the young wardens-in-training. Each of them was able to wield a sword or string a bow and they all knew these lands inside out. They were all 'sufficient' protection for an elderly friend of the elves who wanted to set out on a 'private' matter!

'I suppose we can spare one or two of the wardens, Haldir?' Celeborn gave his foster-son a conspirators look, authorizing him to now re-enter the game and attack the enemy from the front.

The Captain let Silraen's hand go for an instant. He put on his 'I am at your service, My Lord'-face and even straightened his very broad shoulders. 'The Lady already decided that I should accompany, Mithrandir, My Lord.' He replied.

Olorin winced. Sly they were, both of them! And much used to play very dangerous games together! Now they had him cornered and he himself had given Haldir the possibility to tell Celeborn without betraying Galadriel's trust or disobeying her command.

Celeborn congratulated himself. Even his daughter seemed impressed with this clever move of his. Celebrian had kept her tongue in check since he had started to squeeze Mithrandir for information. He and Haldir have been a team for ages. Together they were almost invincible. Now he would deal out the 'coup de grace' to the wizard.

'Galadriel decided that you should need the assistance of the Captain of Lorien, just to find an old friend in the mountains? This seems a little bit an overkill, Mithrandir. We had indeed some trouble with yrch a couple of weeks ago, but they were utterly destroyed.' He looked at Haldir, turning on his best 'I am the Lord of Lorien'-mood.

'Indeed, Sir!' Haldir replied stiffly, his face still completely expressionless. 'The were utterly destroyed before they could cross the Anduin and disappear into the Southern part of the Great Greenwood. I informed my counterpart in King Thranduil's realm of their destruction and received no intelligence of further roaming bands from them.'

Olorin shot the Captain of Lorien a glare that would have smouldered a balrog to ashes. If he'd been of a less gentle and kindly nature, he would have requested that they leave immediately for the mountains, thus spoiling the obnoxious ellon's last peacefull night with his Fay sprite of Imladris in retaliation for his treacherous villainy.

Haldir refrained only with utmost self control from a smug smile. Now the hour of confession and truthfulness had come. Although he himself would be the first to advise against such an act of honesty in the middle of the 'Blooming Appletree. But he felt perfectly capable to point out some quite clearing in the surrounding woods, where Mithrandir could ease his conscience and tell the Lord of Lorien what he suspected so close to the borders of his realm.

Olorin drank his glass of apple brandy, then filled it with another shot. 'I believe,' he said morosely, 'that we should release your Captain and his lady now, my Lord Celeborn. For I wish to leave at the first hour tomorrow morning. And then we others will find a place, were we can talk in confidence.' He turned to Haldir and sizzled .'At the first hour tomorrow morning and not a minute later! Is this understood?'

Haldir acknowledged with a curt nod, bowing politely to Celeborn and Celebrian. Then he took Silraen's hand in his.' Let us go home, Love and leave these three to their own devices. There is not much time left and I must speak with you alone.'


	10. Galadriel's Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 9 Galadriel's Mirror  
  
Only a small iron-wrought lantern lightened Galadriel's favourite place be the well and her mirror. Celeborn hesitated.

The discussion with Mithrandir had been highly instructive, so to say. When they had finally parted, he had been obliged to see his daughter Celebrian to her rooms and sit with her for a while, until the shaken elleth had found some measure of peace, drifting into an uneasy sleep, that was more mental exhaustion then bodily weariness.

He closed his eyes for an instant, recollecting Celebrian's pale face: Seeing a perfectly healthy elleth sleep with eyes closed had unsettled the battle-hardened warrior prince of Doriath more then all the slaughters and blood-shed he had witnessed over the ages of his long life. And now he found his beloved, lonely in her gardens and crumpled into a miserable heap of white garment and golden hair.

The occasional little, muffled sobs and the slight throbbing of her shoulders showed the extent of her grief. Celeborn felt a tight knot in his stomach and a pain like an arrow piercing his heart. Softly he thread with his suede boots on the little path that led down to the well, intending not to startle his golden-haired maiden. If not the silver light of the stars over the waste forest of Laurélindorean could assuage her sufferings in this night, perhaps he could.

Celeborn glid onto the bench and laid a gently arm protectively around her shoulders. Then he pulled her carefully into his lap, resting her against his chest and covering her with a cloak of warmth from his body. Her head against his heart, he willed her to listen to its strong, regular beating.

The Willow and the Oak!

Thus had Melian the Maia named them, when he had courted proud, strong willed, ambitious Artanis of the Noldorin in Doriath of old. Many then thought the clumsy efforts of Celeborn, who was considered honourable, brave and rather dull a matter of laughter, for the fairest flower of the House of Finarfin of whom the Eldar said, that the light of the Two Trees, Telperion and Laurelin had been snared in her.

His uncle Greymantel had even straightforward discouraged that younger Celeborn, whose renown lay chiefly in prowess with sword and bow and an overdeveloped sense for duty, calling him a fool to try and reach for the one of whom legend told that her being had first given Feanor the idea to imprison the lights of the Two Trees in the Silmarils.

Only Melian had stood by his side, encouraging him: 'The Willow and the Oak', she had said, 'for thou shallst be the strong tree, roots solidly anchored in the earth of these lands that will hold her spirit and body, when the great gifts she has received from the Valar will overcome and bend the Willow to its breaking point!'

And thus it was and always has been and would be till the end of days. Against all odds he had claimed and won the fair flower of Fingolfin's House to be his. And ever since he had been the Oak to the Willow.

He cooed soft words of love into her ear, stroking her silky hair with one strong, steady hand until the tiny little sobs died down and the slight trembling ceased. And he continued until he felt her slender body relax and mould against his, her arms clung around his waist and it seemed to him that she held on for dear life.

T'was not the disclosures of Mithrandir alone that had brought her to this state. Of this Celeborn was sure, for he had heard the words of the grey wizard, too and taken in the full extend of the doom lurching over them. 'Will you tell me what you have seen in the Mirror, Alatá(1)?' He asked her gently.

Galadriel's hold of his waist tightened and she dug her face even deeper into the soft folds of his tunic.

'Thou knowest, Beloved, that this burden can not be carried by on alone, even if the one is strong and hardy Artanis, that has braved the icy hell of Helcaraxë unflinching and the sundering of Beleriand without a tear in her eyes. How many dooms have we shared, my Nerwen and how many dangers have we braved together. Let us share this new doom, for I had word with that grey-bearded imp Mithrandir and feel, that the awakening of a shadow to which you already stood up with courage in ages past would dismay you so much.'

Galadriel brushed her tears clumsily away and sniffled one last sob into the comforting warmth of her lord's tunic. Then she allowed his strong hand to lift her chin and look into her eyes. No words he said, for words were not needed, since she could read in the deep blue that sparkled in the lonely lantern light a strength and determination that not even the wrath of the assembled host of the Valar could possibly shake. She pressed her cheek deep into his strong hand, calloused by sword and bowstring and unnumbered toils of three ages.

'Silver Tree!' Galadriel murmured softly and drew the strength she would need from his steady gaze. And then she told him of the flaming eye that she had perceived in her mirror: An eye so terrible and wilful, that she shuddered unwillingly in his arms, while she described it for her lord. And she told him of a dark, ethereal presence -bodiless still, but growing in strength with every moment that passed- that put al his force and wilfulness into one single aim and this aim was to dominate all of Middle-earth as he had done so before his defeat by Isildur's valiant stroke on the slopes of Mount Doom. She spoke to him of a carved-out hill full of dark and horrible caverns, where the shadow had already set upon breeding creatures of the night that bowed to him in deference and fear, willing to spread terror over all known lands at a wink of his flaming-red eye. And she spoke of a great and frightful battle, such as had not been seen since Gil-Galad had led his forces against Mordor more then a thousand years ago and of the Galadhrim, all clad in armour running against a force unnumbered of dark, ugly creatures which outmatched them greatly. She told him of the terrible price of blood and of the lives lost and of their bravery and sacrifice and she told him of a lifeless body, buried under a heap of slain foes, his curved blade still in his hand and of a grieving dark-haired elleth heavy with child boarding a grey ship of Cirdan in the Heaven of Mithlond and leaving their lands forever for the shores of Valinor.

'I fear,' she sobbed, 'that I have send him to his doom, Silver Tree and with him unnumbered others of our people will go to the Halls of Mandos.'

Galadriel let the tears run freely down her fair face, looking at Celeborn with such uttermost grief in her eyes, that he thought his heart must break. But he could not allow himself to give in to his weakness and weep with her, for she needed him strong and confident. He willed his whole being into the icy cold of the warrior facing a deadly foe. He gathered her close to his chest and softly he spoke to his love.

'Many things are revealed in thy mirror, Golden One that wanders these lands crowned with a garland of stars - the past, the present and things that may yet come to be. But that which is seen, even the Wise can not always tell and when it shall come, if it comes none can say, but Iluvatar alone, for only he has knowledge of the wheels of time and the webs of destiny. Thou who lovest him dearly as a mother knowest as the Lady of these lands that whoever chooses to live by the sword, takes the risk to die by the sword. Such you have known, when you wedded to me three ages ago and it never weakened your heart and such he knew, when he bend his knee to me and received his sword and such she knows, who has given him her heart. T'is a risk, whenever men-at-arms are marshalled for strife that many of those who leave will not return to those they left behind. In this we are equals with our second-born kindred and with the Naugrim and even with the vile spawn of Belegurth(2)....Do not let your vision disturb you, Beloved, for even if this is Haldir's doom to fall in battle, it will not make him vie from his path to serve his oath and protect these lands. And even if you tell him straight to his face what you have seen in the waters, he will still go and do, what he thinks is right.'

Galadriel made an effort to compose herself, straightening in his embrace and sitting up to face him.

' Wise is Celeborn, the Silver Tree of Laurelindorean, even if his wisdom is cloaked under the harsh words of Celeborn the warrior-prince of Doriath. Although Galadriel's heart is heavy with sorrow and gloom, the Lady of the Golden Wood will take the Lord's council and let things be, but ever hence Galadriel will be weary, when the Lady and the Lord send forth their Guardian to defend their realm.'

(1) Quenya : Radiance

(2) Sindarin : Great Death ; another name for Melkor/Morgoth


	11. The Parting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 10 The Parting  
  
Silraen watched the sun raising over the golden crowns of the Mallorn trees. The lands of Laurelindorenan truly merited their name; it was the land of the Valley of Singing Gold.

A soft smile lighted her face when one of the sunrays caught in the golden hair of the one she held safely ensconced in her arms. She felt the warmth his body radiated and the slow steady heartbeat under her entwined hands.

They had not slept during the night but spoken long and seriously. Haldir had told her that he had received orders from his liege to depart the lands at first sunlight and that he did not know when he would return. He had spoken to her about the fears of Mithrandir and the shadow, he and his Galadhrim had felt themselves only so recently during their hunt over the Misty Mountains. He had explained to Silraen, that as much as it could be nothing, it could be also the worst they may discover together, something that they both had believed defeated, when he had lain under her care more then one thousand years ago in the heaven of Imladris.

Silraen closed her eyes for an instant, willing back the memories of these days from the depths of her memory: They had been both in great pain then; she had suffered in her heart, for it had been close to breaking after the loss of both her parents and he had suffered in his body from an almost fatal wound left long untended and so putrid and festering that only his stubborn intent to deny the darkness of the defeated Deceiver another victory had kept him from Mandos' Halls.

There had been days, when the Lord Elrond -in despair- was tempted to ship them both off to Valinor, with or without their consent. But they had defeated him together: She had healed his body, while he had healed her heart.

'T'is not the question I want to ask you,' he had said to her, 'that makes me uneasy. For my mind was made up already a very long time ago!'

Silraen opened her eyes and pushed her nose deep into the silken strands of his heavy golden crown. She tightened her grip on him and pulled him into an even firmer embrace. It was the moment! He had confessed that he had come to the Herbal Gardens with an intent and that his heart had fought a ferocious battle with his mind after the discussion with Galadriel and his mind had lost! In full knowledge of the situation and with him at the very brink of departure for an undetermined period of time, would she go or would she tarry? Would she hear his pledge and wait for him in Laurelindorean or would she return to Imladris and resume her old life with Elrond in the Houses of Healing? Could she bear to see him go not knowing when or if he would return and still accept his pledge or would she resent it, as so many of the ellyth did after a while, who had pledged themselves to one of his Galadhrim? He knew that some of them grew despondent and regretted their choice after a while, pressuring their menfolk to abandon the service and seek less strenuous occupation in the elven realm. Others became weary and troubled in their hearts and suffered in spirit and not a few had left for the Undying Lands, finding departure easier them to wait until the day when their beloved would not return from the fences.

Silraen chuckled softly into his hair. 'How often have I seen you off to go and do your duty to these lands, my Captain?' She asked him slyly.

'More times then I can remember, Sprite!' Haldir replied good-naturedly. When he had heard her answer the night before, he had suddenly felt like a very young and very foolish elfling.

'T'is not the wedding band on yon finger that makes a difference, Haldir!' She had explained like a very patient school mistress confronted with a very dull youngling. 'How often have you told me that you had to go into harms way and how often have I seen you stitched together, patched up and wrapped in bandages and not in your finest state? Did I ever tell you not to go and did I ever nag you not to return after you were restablished?'

He had shaken his head. She had always understood that she had chosen a warrior and that his way in life was often dangerous...but it was his and she had learned to accept it with good graces, even if she was afraid and feared that one day he might not return.

'I am not glad to see you off.' She whispered in his ear. 'And I have a very nasty feeling about all this. And there is something lingering over these woods that does not bode well for the future. But should we live in fear, because of the dark or shall we take the time that is given to us and live it to its fullest?'

Haldir threw a furtive glance at the sun that had now risen to the point, where he could not tarry any longer. Gently he disentangled himself from Silraen's arms. They were both relatively old elves, not untried younglings with butterflies in their heads! Then he offered her his hand and pulled her up into his embrace. Softly his lips covered hers. He relished in this kiss and wished it would never end, but Mithrandir was waiting.

Silraen cupped his check with her hand. When it was time for both of them to draw breath, she whispered. 'I shall be here, when you return, my Captain. I shall be waiting for you on this very spot.' Then she turned and entered his talan. His travel bag and cloak lay ready on the kitchen table. She crossed to Haldir's small study and fetched his sword, bow, quiver and sash. Then she hurried back to the terrace.

When he saw what she carried in her hands, he chuckled. His heart was much lighter then the other day. He stretched out his arms to make things a bit easier for her and watched with curiosity, when she wound the blood red sash expertly around his waist.

The only female who had ever armed him before was Galadriel and he wondered, where Silraen had learned how to fix sword belt, blade, shoulder straps and quiver and who had told her of this ancient tradition from Doriath that had come with Celeborn to the Golden Wood. For only mother, wife or sister would arm a Galadhrim.

When she was finished he took her hands in his and kissed the tips of her fingers. 'Will my Sprite tell me, who taught her this, for there are no Galadhrim in Imladris and your guardians have different gear and tradition.'

She grinned and shook her head vigorously. She would not tell him, that her source of knowledge was Celebrian, who long ago related how shocked the folk of Rivendell had been, when their Lady had come with the Lord's weapons into the courtyard of their house to arm Elrond. And even more had they been shocked, when Elrond's newly-wedded Lady had accompanied him to the gates of the heaven to see him literally off.

Silraen gave Haldir a small nod. 'Now take your cloak and travel bag, Captain and then I shall deliver you to your temporary charge and see the two of you to the gates of Caras Galadhon!'

Haldir smiled and did as bidden.

Olorin glanced at Galadriel: Her fair face looked strained, as if she had had a very bad night. Under her eyes lay, almost imperceptible two dark shadows and her hands were tensely clasped behind her back. Celeborn spoke to him softly, but the Istari found it hard to concentrate on the words of the silver lord. The whole being of the Lady of the Golden Wood exhaled tension and unease. Rarely had he seen Artanis in such a foul temper. She had hardly acknowledged him, when they had arrived at the rising of the sun to see him and his travel companion off into the wild. Only when she perceived her Captain from afar, strolling hand in hand with his dark-haired sprite through the empty streets of Caras Galadhon and towards their abode, her foul mood seemed to lift for an instant. She smiled and in her brief smile, Olorin read content and motherly pride. Celeborn was outwardly more composed, but his eyes flickered the very instant he saw the pair and he murmured some soft words to himself.

So it seemed, thought Olorin with a hint of cynicism, 'that the 'urgent private matter' was settled and in a manner of which both his hosts approved. He hoped that his not-so-willing travel companion of the other day would now show a bit more willingness and enthusiasm for their quest.

When the two finally reached the small clearing close to the city gates, the Captain went straight for the Lord Celeborn and placed his sprite's hand in his. A sunray broke in a finely wrought silver band clasped around her wrist, that the Istari had not seen the day before when he had made been introduced to Silraen.

Then the Captain bowed to the Lady Galadriel and said some soft words, which Olorin in his form of an elderly human could not understand. The Lady embraced the broad shouldered warrior, then she laid her slender hand in a gesture of blessing upon his brow. Finally she took the hand of Silraen from Celeborn's and repeated the gesture, first kissing then blessing the dark-haired elleth. Olorin watched intently. Obviously he was intruding upon a very private moment here, a family moment. But before he had time to ponder upon the nature of the Captain's 'urgent private matter' and the interesting traditions of Laurelindorean, the situation changed and became once again more formal and official.

Still holding the Rivendell elleth close to her, Galadriel walked over to him with Celeborn by her side. The Captain of the Galadhrim stood back.

'Anelu I ven, Mithrandir!(1) I have seen great evil. It is still formless shadow, but its fiery eye is blazing and it calls upon fell creatures that where once dispersed and shattered. I have seen deep caverns and dwellings under a mountain. Beware, this is where the shadow hides and he is breeding monsters in the dark. Tread carefully, my old friend for should the shadow become aware that he has been detected by such as you, he will strike hard and swiftly and a great doom will come over these lands.' Galadriel took hold of the Istari's frail hand. 'Beware, Mithrandir, for you are going into a great danger...I fear a danger that is far beyond the powers of your kin or mine. None is prepared to face the Shadow, for most believe that he has left the confines of Arda and gone into the abyss of the Void from whence he hailed.'

Olorin bowed courteously to the Lady of the Golden Wood. 'I shall head thy council, wisest of all the elvenkind and thread carefully, for I no more then you wish to make the Shadow know that he has been perceived. And whence I return we shall sit in council and debate, what has to be done. The One lies still in hiding and many things that should not have been forgotten were lost. But if my suspicion comes true and I shall find, what I fear, then it will put all its strength of will and malice towards one single aim: It will try and return to its creator.'

Galadriel looked at Olorin pensively, then she turned and motioned Haldir to come to their side.

Silraen, who was still standing by the Lady cast her eyes to the ground. What she had learned from her betrothed the night before had already been frightening. What she had learned now was terrifying. Memories of the darkest days of the last age welled up in her mind. When Haldir stood by his Lord and Lady she straightened and held up her head. No matter how frightened or terrified she was and what looming doom she saw in her mind, she would not deceive him and send him forth into peril, danger and darkness with a heavy heart. She would have her time to shake and tremble when he and Mithrandir were seen off and had left the confines of Caras Galadhon.

She cast the Captain a furtive glance. He had been left aside, when the Lady had spoken to Mithrandir, but she doubted, that it was Galadriel's purpose to leave him in the dark, concerning the full extent of the danger they were now going to face and she doubted that the Lord Celeborn would allow the one, who had called him adar for millennia to leave unarmed. She swallowed also her mouth had gone dry. The Lady had given the old wizard a warning, for she was afraid that he could do something foolhardy, something they all would probably bitterly regret. The dark expression in the wizards eyes confirmed Silraen's suspicion.

'Go now,' the Lord Celeborn said with a grave voice, putting his hand on Haldir's shoulder. 'For no one must know where you go. Too much curiosity at the actual state of affairs would be perilous both for you and for the elvenfolk of this realm.' A silver sparkle lit his eyes for a short instant and Silraen saw how Haldir stiffened. Then a similar silver sparkle lightened his storm grey eyes and the Lord of the Woods gave a curt not. Without further words they saw them through the gates and watched in silence, as Mithrandir and the Captain of the Galadhrim disappeared in the thick woods that surrounded the elven city of Caras Galadhon. When they could no longer be seen, Celeborn took Silraen's hand in his and pulled an arm around his Lady's shoulder, leading them back to the heart of the dwelling.

'Did you tell him, Love!' Galadriel asked darkly.

The Lord acknowledged with a silent nod.

(1) The road is very dangerous, Mithrandir !'


	12. A most interesting discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 11 A most interesting discovery  
  
After they had left Caras Galadhon in the early morning hours Haldir led Olorin onto a well-trodden path in Western direction.

For a while, they shared a simple, companionable silence and an accidental spying eye would have taken them for acquaintances who took an early morning stroll to enjoy the clean air and bristling wildlife of the Golden Wood with no other purpose then relaxation and entertainment.

Against his habits, the Captain of the Galadhrim walked at a leisurely pace, as if he had all the time in the world and no duties to attend to. He was the perfect image of what his kinsfolk expected of him, when Lord Elrond’s apothecary dwelled in their city: Easy-going, relaxed and good-natured.

Occasionally he would smilingly point out a pretty bird or a grazing deer to the Istari and sometimes he even stopped to pick a few ripe berries to share with his companion. Olorin’s doubts about the willingness and humour of his chosen companion started to dissipate and the servant of the Lord of the Dream Garden of Valinor gave inwardly a deep sigh of satisfaction. He supposed that the other day it must have been first and foremost the Captain’s unresolved ‘urgent private matter’ with the Lady Silraen that had caused Haldir’s rather violent reaction and obvious unwillingness to accompany him upon his quest.

T’was surprising, he thought, that an elf who had been born the same year Finrod Felagond died in the pits of Angband could still show such childish behaviour, more like a poutting elfling who would not receive a strongly desired sweet from his mother’s hand, then the battle-hardened warrior of Lord Elrond’s tales, who during the Invasion of Eriador in the second age since the creation of Arda had led unflinchingly Celeborn’s heavy elven cavalery against the overwhelming forces of the Dark Deceiver thus driving him off –if only temporarily- in the year 1695.

It was hard to imagine, that this was the same elf, who two years later stood to the last by Celebrimbor’s side at the gates of Ost-in-Edhil and escaped captivity only, because Sauron’s Captain could not fathom that one so grievously wounded was worth been taken.

And he found it most curious that this seemingly spoilt foster-child of Celeborn’s who must have had his ways with the silver lord from the very moment, when the Prince of Doriath decided that he would make as good a son as any of his own seed and loin was the same elf, who had thrown himself protectively onto Elrond on the slopes of Mount Doom, when Sauron’s strike with his hammer of hell 'Grond' smouldered Isildur and burned Gil-Galad.

Patiently the Istari listened to the friendly chit-chat of birds and wildlife and the wonders of Laurelindorean, telling himself that t’was much better to be upon a long road with a companionable, then with a grouchy and stubborn elf.

Haldir threw his charge a short glance. It looked, as if the wizard was now in a right mode to get down to the matter of the subject. His short mental exchange of information with Celeborn had entirely convinced him, that the right decision was to take a company of his wardens and leave the old man behind in the safety of Lothlorien: They would travel swift and stealthy, get themselves a handful of yrch prisoners for questioning in their hideouts throughout the Misty Mountains and then – if one of the yrch confirmed what he had felt concerning their forceful drive towards the Amon Lanc, they would continue into the realm of Thranduil and he would talk sense into his old comrade-at-arms. And if Thranduil would not listen, he’d discuss the issue with his sons. Especially the youngest -Legolas- had a fine mind and keen senses and was capable to look beyond the doorsteps of his father's halls. Together with their comrades from the Great Greenwood they could raise a small expeditionary force and explore the underground networks of the Amon Lanc and the long-abandoned dwarven halls of Druin’s tribe, which made a great part of that astonishing stone maze.

It was much better this way and he would convince Mithrandir to stay behind. Haldir turned from the path into the thick of the forest.

Perhaps, leading the old man onto rougher ground, where he would stumble on his frail feet would make him more pliable to Haldir’s well conceived arguments and convincing plan of action. He was so confident, that he did not even doubt Thranduil’s reactions. Even if that ellon could be as stubborn as a mule on a very bad day, he had a fine sense of danger and an even finer sense for good action plans…and they had fought side by side so often, that great trust existed between the two warriors. Thranduil would hearken his advice!

He thought back to Celeborn’s warning: Galadriel had seen a terrible doom for Lothlorien, that mayhap would come to pass: An impregnable dark fortress on the Amon Lanc that was full of dark creatures and black sorcellery. She had seen the Galadhrim fighting desperately against this foe and many lives were lost.

Haldir shuddered inwardly! She had spoken of the Galadhrim only and not mentioned the Green Elves of the neighbouring kingdom which would be as affected by a romping evil on the Amon Lanc as his own kin. He cursed the Lady and his fcomrade Thranduil for their neverending bantering over Eru only knew what ageold distress that the one mayhap had wrought upon the other. She was so wise and yet so foolish, when it came to Celeborn’s cousin and Thranduil was the same! He snorted: Two royal prats!

Haldir had seen many horrors in his long life and he would do everything in his power to prove the Mirror wrong…and to create unity between his liege and the neighbours. T’was no mission for a frail old man but for an experienced Captain accompanied by at least two companies of reliable and brave warriors.

He threw another furtive look at the old fellow; he had adapted his pace to Haldir’s, ducking branches and avoiding serpentine roots. He coped rather well, considering his age and frail stature. There was not a drop of sweat on his brow and his cheeks were the same healthy olive colour as when they had left Caras Galadhon. Surprising!

The Captain accelerated a bit, descending light-footed towards a tiny rivulet and jumping over it with ease. The old fellow followed in his footsteps, down and over without a thought.

Haldir perceived a wrinkling of the eyes and an expression of great smugness on the aged face. Damn the wizard! This would not be an easy undertaking to make Mithrandir desist and leave the foolhardy quest to competent professionals!

Four and a half hours later, the rays of the sun at noon were brightly piercing the thick leaves and left joyous twinkles of light on the soft, moss covered ground, Haldir wheeled in and came to an abrupt halt.

They had been avoiding all the places where his wardens lay hidden on their daily duty to protect the realm of Celeborn and the Lady of the Light and were now at arrows length from the meeting of Celebrant and Nimrodel, where they would have to cross the waters on a tight rope, that the Captain of Lothlorien had brought for such purposes.

‘Stop!’ He exclaimed and threw his travelling back to the ground.

Olorin chuckled smugly and bent comfortably on his staff. ‘Are you tired, Captain? Shall we take a rest and restore ourselves on those plentiful and delicious provisions packed by loving hands into your bag?’ He was highly amused with Haldir’s exasperation.

When they had left the path and started bushwhacking, the Istari immediately understood that his companion, who on the outside seemed so subdued, was putting up a test…a test of strength and endurance, for he greatly doubted the wisdom of going on this quest with a seemingly aged man inside a frail, spinney body. Olorin had taken up the challenge and followed without complaints. He understood that no words would convince the Captain of the Galadhrim, only deeds.

‘Mithrandir, you and I we must talk. T’is a serious matter and no good for a joke. You are very much aware that my kin hardly needs any rest, most certainly not after a morning stroll into the forest and even less, if the idle wanderer is the Captain of the Realm! I do not wish to pull rakk and insult you: You have shown me, that you can keep up and I do admire you, for I did not expect this from one of your wisdom and age. But will you be able to keep up for days on end, in the mountains, where we must climb to places that make even an elf shudder? Will you cross rivers at a swim or with only a tight rope for your bridge? Will you endure to sleep in cold and wet places and with no creature comfort? And I speak not only of feats of endurance and woodmanship, but also of other things that may yet come: There will be yrch! This I guarantee you, and if they should spot us, they must be destroy, else the shadow you have spoken of may learn that he is pursued. And there will be some captured in order to extricate intelligence from them. T’is not some cosy chat by the fireside, but rough and ugly, for never will they answer willingly as they know that at the end of the road they shall met their doom.’

Haldir had spoken in a respectful tone and with great seriousness. He had put all his power of conviction into these few words, praying the Valar that the old wizard would hearken and desist.

He pulled his arms around his knees and looked up to Mithrandir, his storm-grey eyes reflecting his silent plea to the higher powers of Arda. ‘I do not doubt thy magic and I am certain that you can defend yourself well with it, but think: If t’is truly him, whom you fear, he will fell this sorcery and he will understand that one familiar with the secret ways is closing on on him. The sorcery of thy foe is as black as the ashes of Mordor. He always knew, when he encountered one whose magic was of the light –be he elf or any other creature under this sky- and always he has put his evil energy into the humiliation and complete destruction of such an enemy.’

Olorin smiled at the Captain of the Galadhrim, then he placed his staff on the ground and sat next to Haldir. The ellon had spoken with great concern and sincerity and what troubled him was truly the safety of one, he knew as a dear friend of his Lady Galadriel and thus worthy and good.

Haldir did not shrink from the dangers of the quest or the terrible foe, may he be the Dark Deceiver or only one of the nine wraith of his. ‘I hearken thy words, Captain and I am greatly touched by this concern of yours, but now you must listen to me and accept your fate.’ He said gently.’ I must go and you must be my companion on this quest. It is so simply and it cannot be otherwise.As thou hast sworn oath and loyalty to the Lord Celeborn and the Lady of the Light, I have sworn oath and loyalty to my Masters. You cannot refuse your Lord’s and Lady’s command, and neither can I.’

Haldir leaned back and looked deep into Olorin’s eyes. For a long moment the warrior sat in silence, searching deep within his companion the meaning of these words, for he had magic of his own and he had been well taught by a great mistress of the minds of elves and men. No words did he need to speak to living beings, be they two-legged or four-legged and even in the spirit and thought of trees and plants he could enter, when need arose and counsel was important.

Many millennia ago Galadriel had been surprised to discover in her foster-son that ancient magic of the Eldar who had seen the light of the Two Trees. It had been an accident: She had surprised him with Elrond, with whom he shared great friendship in silent conversation -as was their habit- by the white shores of Lindon.

She had kindled that gift in him and in the son of Elwing and Earendil and she had taught the two young Ellyn well. Alas, he could not speak so far as his friend, but Elrond was not gifted with the creatures of the wild and plants and trees. And so they had decided, that upon each was bestowed what he would need most in life and Elrond had gone to become a healer and master of lore, while Haldir chose the sword.

Olorin grinned slyly. That young one was very gifted: He probed here and there, touched his mind gently, like a feather in different places, sneaked silently around obstacles and took cover in the shades of his imagination and fantasies But he went with great determination towards his goal, never straying from the chosen path.

Artanis had done a great job! He wondered, from whence the son of two simple, wandering grey elves could have inherited this rare magic…and his looks, that did the finest Vanyar princlings of Elvenhome proud..and those storm-grey eyes, into which -he felt- he had looked already once, a very long time ago -upon the lands of the Blessed realm of the Valar?

For a while he humoured the Captain, showing him bits and pieces of his travels in the North and the West, a bit of anguish concerning the Great Deceiver and his return into the confines of their world and some lengthy, philosophical discussions concerning evil and good with Cirdan of Mithlond and Elrond of Rivendell. He smiled, unbeknownst of the intruder, when Haldir tarried with him and Elrond.

There was a great and deep friendship between the two Ellyn and a surprising tenderness that came from an almost identical background: dramatic loss of parents and difficult, dangerous early childhood. Olorin understood much better now, why Celeborn’s Captain had been so willing to throw his body over the body of the Lord of Rivendell, when Grond had struck on the slopes of Mount Doom…and why Elrond had put all of his skill into the almost impossible task, to recall his desperately wounded friend from the Gates to the Halls of Namo.

He also understood – and this idea made him smile with glee – why his companion and Artanis had mentioned the courtship of Celebrian and Elrond in such a funny manner. Considering the Lord of Rivendell almost as a brother, the Captain of Celeborn had found it troublesome to accept an intimate relationship with his ‘so-to-say’ sweet little sister, whom he had held in his arms as a newborn elfling and protected all through his adult life.

Olorin gave Haldir’s probing mind a friendly slap, when he decided that they had lost enough time with this little game. Then he took the rogue by the neck, like an untidy cub and threw him out.

‘That’s it, mellon!’ The Istari proclaimed sternly.’ You are gifted and cunning, this I shall say. But never again try to thread upon the forbidden paths of my mind or I shall administer to you the worst trashing you ever had in your relatively long life!'

Haldir blushed. He had been caught. Caught like an inexperienced elfling who took his first lesson with a master! He felt a rush of shame and lowered his head. This was no wise old man or strange kind of elf. Never before had he been tracked down so skilfully and stealthy. None but Galadriel herself had ever spoken such words to him, not even Celeborn, when unwittingly he ventured too far and wide in his adar's mind. ‘What are you, Grey Wanderer?’ He stuttered ,’…and what do you try to hide from me?’

Olorin stood up and patted the bewildered warrior on his solidly muscled arm.’ Get up, Haldir! You will know in due time. Now there is a river to cross and I have no intention to wet my feet or robes. So you better take that hithlain and ridden yourself of your clothes, for deep and cold are the waters of Celebrant where he meets with his lovely sister Nimrodel.’

Haldir leaped to his feet, snatching his travel bag. Then he made for the slopes of the Celebrant.

‘So far, so good!’ Mithrandir chuckled after him.’ Together we started and together we shall return and you will not get rid of that dotty old wizard…as you secretly call me. For you have been discovered and now you shall do my bidding to the end.’

Olorin heard only a rather grumpy ‘Hrump’ and saw grey woollen cloak, tunic and under tunic fly through the air and onto a heap of carelessly piled weapons. Then a rustle and a splash and off went the Captain of the Galadhrim towards the other side. The Istari watched with great glee, while Haldir’s powerful strokes parted the ice-blue waters. When the Captain touched the other bank he shouted merrily after him. ‘I believe, I do not need to trouble my frail old hands with your gear and weaponry….since your kin does not tire easily and hardly needs a rest after an early morning stroll in the forest!'

Haldir shook himself like a wet dog, golden mane flowing over his shoulders. When he heard Mithrandir teasing, he was almost about to wag a menacing fist at the irresponsibly foolhardy and stubborn old brat, but then decided against it, shaking is fair head in despair. He safely tied the rope to a solid tree trunk and observed with great surprise, how lightly and agile the grey-bearded enthraller of elves and ensnarer of honest warriors stepped on the tight bridge of fortune. He used his knobbed, long staff as a balancing stick and literally flew over the Celebrant.

‘No elf you are and most certainly not one of the Edain!’ Grumbled Haldir, before he threw his powerful body once more into the icy floods to reclaim his gear and arms and to unty the temporary bridge over the waters.


	13. The Doom of the Noldor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 12 The Doom of the Noldor  
  
Celeborn led his two ladies back to the talan in the heart of Caras Galadhon. A little smile hovered on his face, when he watched Galadriel and Silraen climb up the stairs in front of him: His Ladies! He felt a surge of happiness in the heart: Celebrian had given him three wonderful grandchildren, the most beautiful elflings in all Arda and a son-in-law who was.....well....more then acceptable.  
  
He liked Elrond! The Lord of Rivendell was a fine ellon; a brilliant mind, a master of lore and a powerful healer...and, taken at the right moment even a most pleasant companion and commendable captain. He looked at Silraen's comely form, while the elleth climbed to the next floor. Celebrian had given him grandchildren and a good son in law and he was content. But most of the time, she was far away from the Golden Wood, dwelling in her husbands realm.  
  
Alas, daughters - even if they brought the greatest joy to their fathers until they reached womanhood - were always lost in the end, for they went where their hearts would carry them. He knew that this was normal and he rejoiced in Celebrian's happiness and in her great love for the Lord Elrond of Rivendell. But his hopes had always lain with Haldir!  
  
Daughters went away, while sons -more often then not- would stay with their adars and after a while would once again bring new, young lives and new joy into their homes. Celeborn was looking forward to their elflings....and to Hell with Galadriel's mirror and her vision of doom. Eru alone knew, if and when the time of that great battle, perceived in the clear waters of the magic contraption, would come.  
  
There had been so many battles and conflicts in all the ages of Arda and his common sense told him, that a world of eternal peace and undying bliss would never exist: Not in Aman and not on the blessed shores of Valinor. The memories of the slaying of his Teleri mother's kin by the Feanorians and their fiery leader in Aqualonde lived still in a well-hidden corner of the silver lord's heart and were one of the many reasons, why he had always refused to take ship and sail into the West.  
  
From the very moment, he had gazed into the eyes of a terrified elfling, who knew nothing of his background and origins, Celeborn had been taken with the young one. He had gazed into these storm-grey eyes and seen something, he had always desired...even before he had met Artanis, his Galadriel, clad in starlight and the silver sparkle of the moon: A son! One to whom he could pass his wisdom, knowledge, strength and...principles. One whom he could teach the love of their world and the desire to protect what was his kin's.  
  
When he had first looked into the terrified eyes of a battered and abused elfling, he had not seen the trials, the sorrow and the pain, that were rooted deep inside that little soul, but a soft piece of clay, asking for nothing more then to be shaped, by skilful hands, into the form of an elven lord to do honour to the house of Elwë, High King of the Sindar of Beleriand.  
  
After he had made Artanis his, he had hoped for a long time that she would be willing to give him an heir. But his Nerwen, his Alatà, preferred to follow her own destiny and search for a realm to govern and shape according to her desire and dreams and he had to stay behind alone...and uncompleted. But the Valar had been gracious and they had harkened his incessant prayers for a son and even if the young one had not been of his loin and seed, he had been the heir Celeborn had always desired. And now this beautiful son had graced him with a spirited, clever and good-natured soon-to-be spouse! The Lord of the Golden Wood smiled contently: No matter, what her mirror had shown his Galadriel! He knew deep in his heart, that through this bond, the House of Elwë would be strengthened and their bloodline would continue.  
  
When they finally reached their destination, a balcony, hanging spectacularly over the crowns of the highest mellyrn of Laurelindorean, Celeborn gracefully offered a chair to his Lady and another to his future daughter-in-law. Some quick words spoken to one of the handmaidens, roused early from her sleep and still a bit dishevelled, assured a nice breakfast.  
  
The silver lord straightened his robes and took a seat in front of the two ellyth. He decided to allow Celebrian to sleep in. She had had at least five good goblets of apple brandy and half of a bottle of Dorwinion from Thranduil's personal reserve the night before and would be in dire need of recovering from a serious hangover. And the absence of his wonderful, but boisterous daughter would give him a chance to bond -unhindered- with his new daughter- in- law! Celeborn threw a furtive glance at Galadriel. Although the dark shadows were still clinging to her eyes like a pair of greedy Naugrim, she looked considerably better and much more relaxed. No matter her vision in the mirror, the news of the upcoming marriage had soothed the pain of the parting also in her heart.  
  
The Lord of Laurelindorean thanked the maiden gracefully and served hot tea to his ladies. Then he took his own cup and relished for a while in the memories of Doriath of old and the future of his own house and realm. He remembered the day, when he had brought his elfling to Thingol's court very well, although almost five thousand years had gone by since: With Galadriel still in Laurelindorean, he had not hesitated to impose upon his Fair Child a week in the saddle of a real horse and some nights out in the open and under the stars. The young one had hardly been able to put his short legs into the stirrups, but he had not even muttered a word of complaint and ridden on with him and the small group of warriors. One, who had survived the pits of Angband and an encounter with the Great Deceiver was no weakling and Celeborn of Eregion had put his whole energy and skill into all the rest: Ironing out the rather uncouth use of Sindarin, drilling into the elfling the basics of courtly manners and behaviour and teaching the young one, how to face a king. And his Fair Child had passed the test. When he had brought Haldir in front of Elu, informing his uncle and lord that this was his chosen son and heir, the young one had only needed a comforting hand on his shoulder and a slight nudge forward. And Greymantel, after staring lengthily into the elfling's storm-grey eyes had given his blessing and accepted his nephew's choice.  
  
Highly satisfied with the recent developments, Celeborn watched Galadriel and Silraen. His Lady smiled and chuckled softly, while Haldir's future mate -her cheeks slightly red and her eyes brilliant like the waters of the Silverlode- related the gentle pledge of her Captain and her acceptance of it.  
  
Elwë and his Fair Child had not even exchanged a word, during that first encounter, but the Greymantel had taken a small dagger from his belt and gifted it to the elfling. Then he had ordered his Captain Beleg to take the elfling away and spoken at length with Celeborn. He told him what he had seen deep within the young soul and that the Silver Tree of Doriath had chosen wisely. And he said, that since the Fair Child had no mother to name him and since Celeborn had not yet seen his elfling's true being and personality, he would name the young one and furthermore it should be known that the foster-son of Celeborn of Doriath was Haldir! He explained to his younger brother Elmo's grandson, that the elfling would bring pride and great renown to his house, and that Celeborn would never ever be ashamed of the one that he has taken as his son....but that one day, far off and when the Fair Child would have fulfilled its destiny, he would also bring great grief together with great joy. The Lord of Laurelindorean smiled softly:  
  
What had Thingol said so long ago: Beware, grandson of my brother, the Doom of the Noldor is upon thee, since the day you wed Artanis, daughter of Finarfin and sister of Finrod Felagund and never shall this doom leave thy house until thou travellest over the sea and into the Undying Lands. But great honour also shall come from this union and from your choice of a son.  
  
While Thingol was not so farsighted and wise as his Queen Melian, he had nonetheless set his foot on the shores of Valinor and seen the Light of the Two Trees. Ever hence, after his return from the Undying Lands, the High King of the Sindarin was gifted with an insight far beyond that of all his kindred, who had never accomplished the journey. And while Celeborn had never fully understood the meaning of his grand-uncles prophetic words and his references to the Doom of the Noldor and Galadriel's brother Finrod, who had gone to the Halls of Waiting some fifteen summers prior to this meeting in Doriath, he had always kept them in his mind, hoping that one day he might perhaps unravel the mystery. But today was not the day!  
  
Celebrian met the morning sun with a rather drowsy eye. She felt slightly guilty; first the fine red Dorwinion with Silraen down in the Herbal Gardens, then the Apple Wine at the Wardens' Stables and finally the Apple Brandy at the 'Blooming Appletree'. This was most certainly too much for each and every elleth her size and weight! After such an abominable and most despicable orgy a mighty headache was nothing else but......divine justice.  
  
She tiptoed over to the water basin and poured a generous amount of cool, fresh water. She made a great effort to do this in great silence, for she did not want one of her naneth's handmaidens dutifully storm into her room and see her in this sorry state...least dear Elrond would learn from gossip ...or worse, her mischievous sons. And these two always found a way to make profit from embarrassing knowledge and blackmail the concerned elf ruthlessly.  
  
Celebrian splashed the water over her face and bathed both arms to the elbow in the cool and refreshing liquid. 'Eru! To shake this all off and pretend, Mithrandir had a bit to much of that curious pipe weed he liked so much was no option. To pretend that nothing ever had happened yesterday at the setting of the sun would be a blatant lie and to try and say that the wizard saw shadows in the dark...She rested her elbows on both sides of the basin on the beautifully carved wash table and stared into the water. 'Wish you would show me an answer!' She said to the finely engraved silver basin that somehow resembled her mother's notorious mirror downstairs in the Gardens. They had allowed her to sleep it off, both the alcohol and the terrifying statements of the Grey Wanderer. Nobody had come to wake her in order to see Haldir off. She felt a sting of guilt in her heart. Judging by the position of the sun, he and Mithrandir were already close to where Celebrant met Nimrodel, perhaps even on the other side of the river crossing and on their way into the Misty Mountains. A tiny smile lit Celebrian's eyes for a split moment: He always called it 'Birdbath of Doom' and would neither trust Galadriel's magic device nor look into it. What was his true opinion concerning the revelations of Mithrandir? And would he resent it, that she had not bidden her farewells and taken at least a short moment of time to discuss with him?  
  
'Nonsense, girl! He will not be mad at you, for he has most certainly counted the glasses of apple brandy you swallowed yesterday, even with his eyes rifted on Silraen! He understands...probably better then anybody else in this realm...for if the old wizard is right, it will be him and his wardens, who will be first to bear the brunt of the shadow...' Celebrian pushed herself up, straightened her shoulders and snarled. 'And now, pull yourself together and do something right.' Then she went to the window, turning her eyes towards Imladris on the other side of the Misty Mountains and putting all her energy into one single thought. 'Elrond!' She shouted with her mind from the deepest depths of her heart.  
  
'A good day to you, too, my lovely!' She felt his amused mind touch hers almost instantly.  
  
'Sorry!' Celebrian grumbled, feeling that her mental call for her Lord may perhaps have been...a little bit too enthusiastic. 'Did I startle you?' She asked ruefully.  
  
When Elrond's reply was but an amused chuckle, she decided that they could now turn to a more serious discussion. ' Find yourself a comfortable place, Elrond, for this will take time.' She first cautioned the Lord of Imladris. ' And now listen carefully, for there is something very strange going on here in fair Laurelindorean and I need my wonderful husband's most brilliant mind and all his lore and knowledge and wisdom from the depths of the Ages in order to make some sense of it.'  
  
Far away on the balcony of his private study that hung spectacularly over one of the smaller waterfalls of Rivendell, Master Elrond fell with a heavy and very unelvish thud onto the soft cushions that lay on his favourite reading bench. He winced and pulled a slender hand over his eyes. The very fact, that Galadriel had not informed him was an additional factor to shake him to his very core. The Lady of Laurelindorian had never been one given to crying havoc or stirring panic. This underlined, that the intelligence, Celebrian had imparted with him was probably only a feeble reflection of the true danger that lay underneath Mithrandir's suspicions concerning the shadowy presence around the Amon Lanc. Adding to this , the fact, that Galadriel had deemed it necessary to order Haldir to accompany the Grey Wanderer did not soothe Elrond's mind either.  
  
'And she ordered Haldir to go?' Elrond asked Celebrian once more.  
  
The mental confirmation made the elven lord shudder. Although he had been born some thirty years after the fall of Doriath, he was very much aware of the protective girdle of enchantment that Elu Thingol's maiar queen Melian had put around the realm. A youthful Galadriel had learned her craft from Melian and she had seen the girdle fail. So when she repeated the protective enchantments of her mighty teacher in order to shield Laurelindorean from evil, foes and intruders, she grounded them not only within her own personal strength and the power of the Ring of Adamant, but also in Celeborn and the existence of her foster-son, who by his oath of loyalty was sworn to forsake immortal life for the safety of the land and its people. He -Elrond-had done exactly the same with Rivendell, copying Galadriel's shield: His Heaven was protected by his power, his ring, his twin sons Elladan and Elrohir and the fealty and blood of Glorfindel his Captain. Not easily would he order Glorfindel to lend his sword and skill to some strange wizard with a premonition of looming darkness and thus deplete Rivendell -if only temporary- of one part of its defences!  
  
'You keep quiet about all this, Beloved!' He cautioned Celebrian, although he knew that his Lady was wise and learned in the history of Arda. 'I will -on my side- push with our friend Cirdan, in order to find out, what Mithrandir may truly hide under his pointy hat. The more I think of it, wife....he is not what he appears to be. Maybe...' The elven lord mused.'...maybe he is an emissary. But most certainly not one of the High King of the Eldar in Valinor.'  
  
Celebrian had taken a leisurely seat on the windowsill of her chambers, dangling her naked feet as she had loved to do when still a small elleth. She pursed her lips and a sly little smile appeared on her fair face. Her silver glazed eyes where turned straight onto Elrond and Rivendell and in her mind the high barrier of the Misty Mountains no longer existed. She could see him clearly with her inner eye and she perceived that little twinkle that preceded....a revelation. He sat on his favourite bench, elbows on his knees and a long, slender finger tipped to his lips. A sign of uttermost concentration.  
  
The Lady of the Last Homely House West of the Mountains chuckled. 'Maybe,' she thought, repeating his last words mentally,'...our secretive friend Mithrandir would be an emissary of the Lords of the West... in recognition of ancient error?'  
  
Elrond sat silent for a while, pondering upon the words of his spouse. So lightheartedly spoken they had come from deep thought and were not just the youngling fancy of some dreamy elleth. In the Years of the Trees, the Valar had tried directly interfering in the destiny of the Elves by leading the Eldar forcefully into the West, and this resulted in many bloody wars and confrontations, even between the Elves themselves. Maybe the Powers had at one moment recognized the error of their ways and were now decided to not repeat the mistake, but send guidance and advise to their first- and secondborn children in the form of old men of gentle nature and which did not appear as a threat even to the most suspicious of the great rulers of Aman, elves and men and dwarves alike. Often greater deeds were encouraged by subtle persuasion then the inspiration of terror and fear. But then this would also mean, that soon such deeds of valour would be needed anew, for a new danger was arising under the sun of the hither lands!  
  
  
  
To Olorin's great surprise, Haldir took a northward direction, following the Celebrant instead of crossing the river and turning to the Eastern fences of Lothlorien and Durin's Steps which led to the Dwarven realm of Khazad Dum. The way into the Misty Mountains via Dimril Dale and the dwarven way, that would join further in the East the Old Forest Road leading in a straight line through the Great Greenwood and down to Laketown and the Mountains of Greenwood was the quickest and shortest cut from Galadriel's and Celeborn's Realm to the Amon Lanc and the capital of King Thranduil, for the Old Ford was the only place, where they could cross the great river Anduin dryfooted. It was also the way over which Haldir and his wardens had hunted the horde of marauding yrch which seemed driven and overshadowed by a darker power. Galadriel had spoken to him at length about this terrible hunt.  
  
'I feel a bit guilty about all this, Haldir!'  
  
Olorin finally broke the silence that weighted over them, since the river crossing earlier that day. The further they left the Naith of Lothlorien behind, the more the Captain seemed preoccupied. He had been walking in front of him for hours, ignoring his presence, the setting of the sun and the approach of nightfall.  
  
'You must not feel guilty, Mithrandir.'  
  
The reply came almost as a surprise. It was a detached voice that had spoken to the Istari, almost unconcerned. Haldir did not even turn around while he addressed him and neither did he slow his pace. He seemed very much determined to continue on their way, his elven eyes probably much better adapted to the darkness then Olorin's man-eyes. But he had not the feeling, that this was another test set up for him, like their bushwhacking of the early morning hours. Mayhap there was some purpose in this drive! The Istari kept his own council and decided that he could trust the good judgement of his companion.  
Several hours of marching later - a moonless, black night made it literally impossible for Olorin to even see his fingers held in front of his eyes and all he could follow was the soft shine of the elven warrior's fea- Haldir suddenly stopped. Mighty trees, high growing ferns and a maze of thorny bushes blocked the Celebrant completely from view. Only the soft gurgling noise of flowing water indicated its presence.  
  
The Captain turned and took the old wizard by the elbow, leading him to the solid roots of one of the trees and motioning him to sit and take a short rest.  
  
'This is a very peculiar ford, Mithrandir.' He explained in a soft voice, careful not to disturb the quite of the forest '....a ford known to a very small number of my wardens and who use it to enter or leave these lands for intelligence gathering under a veil of absolute secrecy. No horse can climb the slope and it takes courage even for an elf to venture down and attempt the crossing!'  
  
'Why did you choose to go so far northwards and into the wild lands instead of taking by Dimril Dale and the dwarven road to Khazad Dum?' With a certain amount of curiosity the wizard stared at a hardly visible breach in the maze of thorn bushes. He doubted, that even a very slender hare could make it through without entangling itself in the cruel-looking thorns.  
  
Haldir did not reply immediately, but opened his travel bag and brought forth two appetizing red apples of which he offered one to his companion. 'This slope is extremely dangerous....even for an elf!' He explained patiently between two bits. He would explain his reasons later, when they arrived at their final resting place for this night. Now it was of greater importance to caution the old wizard. 'You must follow me exactly in my footsteps, else you will break your neck. Some of the stones have flat sides and they easily support even the weight of a fully-grown man, but others will break away if it is only a squirrel that threads upon them. The slope is a natural staircase, open to those who know its secrets!'  
  
Olorin nodded, finishing his apple and raising to his feet. He had the strange feeling that this descend to the Celebrant would be the hardest part of their night march. He followed the Galadhrim slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on Haldir's soft glow and daring hardly to breat, when his soft boots touched the flat stones. When the Istari finally reached the end of the slope, he felt a great burden lift from his shoulders. The climb down to the Celebrant had truly been an experience he was not keen to repeat for quite some time.  
  
He had not felt so exposed and vulnerable since first he had set foot on the shores of Aman. He was grateful that Haldir had taken his travel bag along with his staff. When he finally relaxed on a single great boulder that stood out of the water, directly at the ridge, the Captain went onto his knees and with what looked like a tremendous physical effort pushed aside one of the larger flat stones. Underneath appeared an opening just large enough to let a man pass, appeared. Haldir caught Olorin's hand and pulled him over. He spoke softly.  
  
'Do not fear, Grey Wanderer. The worst for today lies behind. Hence, this was the dwelling of a giant cave worm. The creature often ventured into our forest to kill elf and beast without distinction. One day we hunted it down and slew it and one of my wardens discovered, that the worm hole was not a hole but a tunnel that leads right into the bowels of the Misty Mountains. We have been secretly exploring this highly interesting passage over the years and we found out many highly interesting details. But not even my Lord Celeborn can tell, if all this is just a fancy of nature or made by skilled hands or perhaps just a consequence of the sundering of Beleriand in the War of Wrath. He placed Olorin's hand firmly upon something that appeared to be an iron handle.  
  
' We decided to ease the acces a bit. So now keep good hold and search with your feet for the next step.' He explained. 'As soon as you touch ground, you will find a lantern in a small niche at arms reach. But wait for me before you lighten it for I must place this stone back into its correct place from the inside and hide the entrance to the passageway.'  
  
Olorin followed Haldir's painstaking explanations and it was surprisingly easy and quick to climb down into the heart of the earth. Once again his companion used all his physical strength to move the stone and then nimbly descended himself. Only a heartbeat later, two merry lanterns lightened an impressive hall of stone and Haldir chuckled softly when he saw Mithrandir's eyes light with surprise and curiosity. The cave worm had been dead for almost five hundred years and the beast's evil stench was long gone. Notwithstanding the heavy floods of the Celebrant pressuring onto the thick roof of the cavern, everything was dry and clean, the stone of the walls so smooth as if hundreds of skilful Naugrim had spent years to work on it. Small, precious looking crystals, embedded in the dark grey granite broke their lights in the lights of the two lanterns.  
  
'A glittering cave!' Olorin exhaled, enthralled by this wonder of nature.  
  
'T'is adamant!' The Captain replied with a smile,' ...and of such fine quality, that the Naugrim of Khazad Dum would be breathless, if ever they were allowed to have a look at this place. But I do not care for precious stones and riches of this kind and neither do my wardens. Many of us have had enough of this folly, while Hollin still stood.' He turned on his heels and signalled to Olorin.' Khila amin!-Follow me, Grey Wanderer! We must make haste if you want to have a good night's rest.'  
  
Hardly an hour later, Olorin found himself deep in the bowels of the Misty Mountains. They had left the large cavern behind and were walking through a tunnel that seemed to climb upwards. When they came to a crossroad, were two more tunnels cut into the first, Haldir turned to the right and led the Istari into a second glittering cavern. It was slightly smaller then the first one but held a fair amount of creature comforts -blankets, store of dried food, a barrel full of white winged Lorien arrows, some barrels filled with what seemed to be wine and a small, but cleverly constructed iron stove, that allowed to warm those, who would take up their resting place in this hide-out place.  
  
Close to one of the walls a small spring tickled down into a medium-sized stone basin carved by time. The water looked fresh and tasty.  
'Here we are, Mithrandir.' Haldir said softly. The cool aloofness and detachment had vanished from the elf's voice.' I beg your pardon for this forced march, Grey Wanderer and...for my impolite silence. But to find the small gap that led us down the slope of the Celebrant was rather trying in the dark of this moonless night -even for the elven eyes of the Captain of the Galadhrim!'  
  
He took several of the blankets from the stores of his wardens and laid them out as a comfortable bed for the wizard. Then he gathered nuts, dried food and a small piece of lembas from the provisions and offered everything to Olorin. 'Eat now and then rest in peace. We will leave early in the morn and the way up to the peak of this mountain is very demanding. It will be a hard climb, Grey Wanderer.' Then he took some blankets for himself and found a comfortable corner for his own night's rest. The glittering, subterranean cavern was probably the safest place in all Aman, for none who did not know about the flat stone by the Celebrant and the secret of the dark underground lake further inside the bowels of the mountain could enter this place. He put his blade at hands reach, propped his bow and quiver against the wall and curled up in his soft blankets. He wanted to pass Khazad Dum unseen by the Naugrim and follow a tiny mountain track to the discreet abode of a band of renegades he had been tolerating for years unnumbered close to the borders of Laurelindorean against intelligence and some small, but handy services.


	14. A Memory of Valinor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 13 A Memory of Valinor  
  
When Olorin woke from a peaceful slumber, he found the Captain of the Galadhrim by the tiny iron stove, boiling tea and....preparing a plate of eggs and bacon! A small table was dressed with wooden plates, something that looked strangely like fresh way bread and even a lump of salted butter. Haldir carried the hot iron pan over to the table and distributed equal shares of the sustaining delicacy on the plates.  
  
'I presume, you slept well, Grey Wanderer!' He greeted Olorin good-naturedly, his warrior braids freshly pleated, grey tunic crisp and straight and boots as neat as if he was expected for guards' duty at Celeborn's and Galadriel's talan in Caras Galadhon. The Istari pursed his lips, gave a baleful look to his wrinkled grey robes in which he had slept and quickly pulled a hand through the tangles of his long beard and mane.  
  
'That seems to be a good start for today,' he said slightly embarrassed by such a display of morning alertness , sniffing longingly the crispy roast bacon and appetizing eggs.'  
  
Haldir folded his legs under the wooden bench and pulled a clean, white napkin from one of the pockets of his tunic, draping it delicately over his dark grey buckskin breeches.  
  
'As long as we can afford it, I do not see any need to deprive you and I of creature comforts, Mithrandir. This will be a hard day, my friend and before long you shall be grateful for sustenance and hot tea.' He took a spoon full of eggs, munching contently. It was a long and very difficult road up to the mountain top and having been a warrior for his whole life, Haldir appreciated even the smallest bit of comfort to its fullest. He took a piece of warm way bread and buttered it generously.  
  
'Will you tell me your plans, Captain.' The Istari asked between two bites of breakfast. He loved hot eggs, bacon and a good mug of tea to start his day and since Haldir seemed to be in a good mood he decided to use this intimate moment for some questioning.  
  
The warrior swallowed, taking his napkin and delicately cleaning his lips. There was no reason to forget good manners and breeding, because one was out in the field and on duty. He never admitted this with his wardens and he never went easy on himself. He dropped a wooden spoon deep into a small jar of honey and sweetened his tea. 'We shall avoid the dwellings of Durin's people in Khazad Dum and take the crest of the Misty Mountains,' he explained patiently, ' this chain has come into existence when Beleriand was destroyed during the War of Wrath and it is full of holes, caverns and passages. Since the creatures of the shadow shun the light, the safest way to approach them is by complete surprise. They will hide during the day and come out after nightfall only. And the Naugrim never venture so far from their dwellings. They prefer to criss-cross the Misty Mountains from inside.'  
  
Mithrandir followed Haldir's lead, buttering a piece of way bread and adorning it generously with crispy hot bacon. The tea was delicious, a subtle mix of mint, melissa, elder flowers and dried apples. He drank with relish, before he replied.  
  
'Will you tell me of your recent hunt, Captain?'  
  
The warrior finished his plate, cleaning it with a piece of crispy bread and poured himself another cup of tea. 'There is not much to tell, Mithrandir: The came at night and assaulted my kin. The Naugrim went to their succours, but there were too many yrch. They slew everything alive, leaving only smouldering ashes. We followed them for days at end until we managed to encircle them in a small ravine with no way out. We destroyed them to the last yrch and burned their carcasses. I send a messenger to the Naugrim, informing the Lord that his warriors had been avenged and another to Thranduil's Captain Thirion. Then we returned to Caras Galadhon with our wounded!'  
  
Haldir's storm-grey eyes darkened, when he said the last sentence. Olorin saw many things at this moment: Guilt, pain, passion, hatred! The elf in front of him had multiple layers and it would be quite interesting to find out what lay at the very bottom; Celeborn's rotten-spoiled foster-son or the noble warrior, Elrond had spoken off!  
  
The Istari finished his breakfast. He had learned as much from Artanis and he felt, that there would be nothing more from his companion. The gloomy expression on Haldir's fair face indicated, that the discussion was over and the time to leave this safe cavern was neigh. He would not insist, feeling that his companion mayhap did not understand the full extent of his question.  
  
  
The youngest prince of the Great Greenwood reined in his horse and turned around in the saddle to throw a last, baleful glance at the place were he was born and raised. Once this had been a place of joy and laughter and many merry feasts under the silver starlight; now it was a bald hill, where trees that had held elven dwellings for ages crumbled before the eye of the terrified observer and soft green grass turned to evil weed between sunrise and sunset. The cool waters of the Forest River parted for the last wagon and horses that would take his kin away from there home and further north into the Black Mountains. His father had left many days ago on a stretcher. Thranduil the Mighty, strong and unbending, had been brought to his knees by the sight of a newborn elfling fading in his mother's arms. In a folly of rage and hatred the King had taken his blade and fought with a shadow that all could feel but none could see. When he had fought himself into complete exhaustion and something that resembled strangely a fading stupor. Legolas and his elder brother Orodhrim had constrained Thranduil and dispatched him together with his life guard further north. The young prince gave a deep sigh, then he lifted his fist in defiance and shook it against the nameless terror that had chased his kin from their home. First they would see to their peoples' safety and to their father, then he and his brothers would ride out and search for the nameless bane that had brought despair and horror into their fair land.  
  
'Mylord!' A gentle voice brought Legolas back to reason, 'T'is time to go. You should come, for thy kin looks to you and your brethren today and there is no use to tarry.'  
  
The youngest son of Thranduil threw a last, vicious glance at the Amon Lanc. Then he turned his steed and galloped after Thirion, his father's Captain. For now they would give up their home and dwellings and bring their people to safety. But he made a silent oath, that one day they would return and chase the evil that had claimed their lands.  
  
  
  
Olorin understood, why his companion had insisted on such a sustaining breakfast. He breathed heavily, feeling a painful sting in his side and another, more painful sting in the muscles of his thighs. The path was pure torture: A rather low and fairly narrow tunnel that went straight downwards into the bowels of the earth. The descent was very step and the ground slippery, as if some made team of dwarven craftsmen had employed all their skills to polish the rock like the surface of a mirror. Every now and then even Haldir slipped and battled for balance. Once more the Istari was rather grateful, that his companion had offered to carry his bag and his staff. At least he could keep his hands against the walls and find a little bit of safety there. He did not dare to ask the question, that had been tormenting him for quite a while: How long would they have to walk on this terrible path.  
  
'We are almost there, Mithrandir!' Haldir as if he could read Mithrandir's mind and feel his pains and troubles- halted and placed his lantern in a small niche. From underneath a strange noise filled the tunnel. It almost seemed, as if there was a waterfall in the mountains. Olorin pressed a hand to his painful side, bend over and grasped.  
  
'That's wonderful news!' He replied breathless. A nasty little voice inside his head repeated at the very instant the Captain's warnings of the other day: ' Will you be able to cope with these efforts for days at end?' And they had not even slept out in the open, but in a warm, sheltered and pretty cosy place.  
  
Haldir turned around. The lantern, lightening his fair face showed a pair of slightly concerned eyes. 'There is still time to turn back, Mithrandir.' There was absolutely no sarcasm or glee in his voice. 'It will not become easier, but ever harder.'  
  
The Istari, damning his elderly, human body, tried to straighten up, but the stich in his side still hurt. 'No!' He said, with rather more sting, then he had intended. 'I cannot turn back.'  
  
'Very well.' The Captain knew that he had to accept his companion's choice, even if he believed , that the stubborn determination of the old wizard bordered folly and would endanger them both. He took the hithlain rope from his shoulder and made a solid sling. 'We must get down to where the water falls.' He stated. 'You will go first. I will let you down, then the packs and my weapons.' He took a pair of solid leather gloves from his sash and put them on. Then he attached Olorin around his waist in a secure harness. When the Istari threw him a doubtful glance, he simply slung the end of the hithlain rope over his shoulder and back. 'I can hold you, Grey Wanderer. There is no need to worry.'  
  
Following the initial shock to let himself drop, back first into the void, Olorin realized very quickly, that the Captain of the Galadhrim did not even intend him to climb. He let him down, like a burden. When he touched the ground with his feet, he only felt a gentle tucking of the hithlain and the rope was immediately drawn back up. Within the moment, the packs, Haldir's weapons and his staff followed and the rope dropped obediently, curling itself into a neat heap. Lothlorien's hithlain was well known for its magic, for all ropes contained hairstrands of the ellyth of the Golden Wood. While Olorin still wondered, how the Captain would get down, without his rope and nobody to help him up in the tunnel, a heavy hand was placed upon his shoulder and he turned around startled.  
  
Haldir chuckled softly. 'We cross under the waterfall!'  
  
At around midday, they finally halted. Olorin was once more breathless and his side stung like fire. He readily accepted some food and water from his companion and stretched his aching legs. The ferocious descent of the morning had been surpassed by an even more violent ascent. They had dragged themselves through another tunnel, stepper and possible even more slippery then the first. But this way went straight upwards. Occasionally sideways would part to the left and to the right and Haldir explained patiently, that some of them could bring a determined traveller even to the other side of the Misty Mountains and into what had once been Eriador. Others were simple dead ends and one or two turned towards the dwarven halls of Khazad Dum, but the Galadhrim had blocked these passages with stones and rabble, hopping that this was enough to discourage the curiosity of their Naugrim neighbours. When they had finished their small meal, Haldir led Olorin for another hour through the tunnel until they stood under a chimney. Hesitant beams of light made their way down to the stony ground.  
  
'And this is the way out!' The Captain informed the Istari with a smug grin.  
  
Olorin gave a deep sigh. He was a powerful Maia, second only to Curumo and even in his diminished human form, he held strong and powerful magic. But this did not include eagle's wings or spider legs. He inclined his grey head and shrugged his shoulders. 'This is indeed a most interesting approach for one who wishes to reach the peak of the Misty Mountains. I believe, you will lead the way, Captain and I will follow.' He was rather curious to see, how his companion would get them up and into the sunlight. From what Haldir had told him, this passage was used by his wardens regularly. Would some strange elven magic reveal some metal handles, as in the chimney they had taken to descend under the earth by the shores of the Celebrant?  
  
His companion smiled, obviously highly amused by Olorin's disgruntled face. Then he took off his sword belt, quiver, sash and over tunic and packed all together in a neat bundle. The hithlain rope was slung around his midsection and tied with a solid not. His fingers then looked for a first hold inside the chimney and he swung up with ease. Placing his feet against one wall and his solid back against the other, Haldir started his ascent.  
  
Olorin found that it looked quite easy. His companion made good way and moved higher and higher. When he had reached midway, the Istari nodded and told himself, that this should not be all too difficult. It was just a matter of first pushing one's backside up with one's hands and then follow with the legs. He was confident that once freed of his long and ample robes and stripped down to under tunic and pantaloons, he'd be more then capable to repeat the Captain's deed. He started to undo the stays and slipped his garment off, folding it and attaching it securely to his travelling bag. The pointy hat was rolled into a sleek tube and his long, silver grey scarf stuffed into a pocket.  
  
While Haldir was two thirds up, Olorin stretched out his hands and searched for some place in the stone wall, where he could find a hold. He searched...and searched! But he found nothing. The Istari stood on tiptoe and stared at the stonewall: It was almost flat. How, in the name of Eru, had this naughty sprite managed to get his rather heavy carcass into that chimney? There was not even a granite splinter to hold on!  
  
Before Olorin started another, more thorough scrutiny of this strange chimney, a soft whistling sound caught his ear. He looked up and saw Haldir's booted legs dangle over the edge. His ever present hithlain rope snaked downwards.  
  
'Tie all our stuff with a good knot to my rope!' The Captain shouted.  
  
'I cannot find any hold for my fingers to climb up.' Olorin replied.  
  
'I did not intent to make you climb!'  
  
'You are not going to abandon me here, Haldir!'  
  
Olorin shouted with an itch of panic in his voice. He had been well aware from the very beginning, that the Captain of the Galadhrim was not very happy to take him onto this quest and he did not put it beyond that sprite to leave him here, stuck and with no way out. He even considered for a moment, that such a plan had been made between him and that Sinda Prince from Doriath. Olorin remembered that silvery glaze in the eyes of both Ellyn before he and Haldir had passed the city gates of Caras Galadhon. While he had been speaking with Galadriel, Celeborn and Haldir had had a mental exchange. So much was clear. There were probably already a handful of Galadhrim wardens somewhere in the tunnels....with strict orders to return the stray wizard -no matter how- to the safety of Caras Galadhon and Galadriel's keeping.  
  
Haldir laughed heartily. He seemed to imagine what the Istari was thinking down at the bottom. 'Come on. Tie those packs and weapons to my rope and stop fussing, Mithrandir!' He shouted.'....and I will not leave you behind, as you seem to believe. You will climb with the rope. That is much easier.'  
  
The Istari gave a deep sigh and did Haldir's bidding. Elves were children of the light, but they were also Fay sprites and could never be entirely trusted. Serious one moment, they could literally turn into children of nature the very next and dance and make merry without a second thought. He had seen it all in Valinor: Their deep passions and excessive pride, their lust for life and their capacity to destroy it, without a second thought. They were Iluvatar's first-born and as such had all the qualities and all the faults imaginable. Tremendously wise, and terribly childish all at once. Fierce warriors and soulful minstrels. Vain to the point of ridicule and capable of the utmost sacrifices....hard like adamant and soft like the lush green grass that covered the lands of Laurelindorean. He saw their baggage ascend quickly through the chimney and being pulled over the ridge by strong hands. Now he was on his own and of no more worth to Celeborn's clever Captain!  
  
A sharp whistle brought Olorin ought of his reverie. 'Careful, Grey Wanderer!' Haldir shouted and the hithlain fell down and landed in front of his feet. A solid branch was fixed to its end and two slings for handhold had been knotted into the rope. The Istari shook his head, understanding immediately the purpose of that curious contraption. His companion intended to give him a lift -literally! He pursed his lips in a smile.  
  
  
'Did you enjoy the trip!' Haldir brushed some sweat from his brow and unslung the rope from over his shoulders. Mithrandir -surprisingly wiry and thin without his heavy set of grey wool robes - tried to look dignified. But the healty red on the old wizard's cheeks indicated, that he had never flown through a stone chimney and up to a mountain peek.  
  
The Captain chuckled softly and massaged his aching muscles. The secret passageway out of Laurelindorean was a kind of initiation rite for all his young wardens. There was no physical danger, only a challenge to the body. But elves hated secluded places and they were unrooted, when they could not see the stars at night. Oh, they employed this passage for serious purposes, too. But most of the time, the way through the Misty Mountains was just a game...a game, that allowed him to separate the hesitant from those who had a stout heart and strong body. He allowed himself a short moment of pleasure, stretching his arms to the deep blue skies and inhaling deeply the clean, cold air of the peek. 'Look, my friend!' He exclaimed, pointing at the giant mallyrn tree far away in the heart of his forest. ' Caras Galadhon, the heart of Elvendom on Earth and the Realm of my Lord Celeborn and Galadriel, the Lady of the Light! T'is beautiful to behold from this high peek. Look at it and keep the view close to your heart, for it will be long, before thou shallst see these blessed lands again. Cormamin niuve tenna' ta elea lle au!1'  
  
Olorin followed the ellon's indications and gazed amazed at the beauty and majesty of the forest underneath. He saw the mellyrn in all their splendour, sparkling golden in the bright sunlight and suddenly he understood, why Illuvatar's first-born children had been so reticent to abandon Aman and follow Oromë into the West.  
  
It was a rich land that lay before him, full of life and joy and bathed in an unearthly beauty that would enthral to no ends even the children of the light, who relished in this green and golden splendor. He averted his gaze from the beauty of Laurelindorean and looked at the Captain of the Galadhrim. Haldir's storm-grey eyes sparkled with a sudden fire and Olorin realized how deeply these lands were rooted in his soul and lifeblood. He loved that forest and this love was so strong and deep, that he would go into the heart of the shadow, if this was the prize to pay to keep evil away from his land and his kin.  
  
The Istari tarried for a moment on the fair face that was bathed in sunlight. It reminded him of someone he had seen in the Undying Lands, another elf lit by the fires of passion and life...and it was not the one, who had held Haldir’s mother's hand and gazed at her with tender love and caring!  
  
But the moment passed and the Captain of the Galadhrim dropped his arms and reverted into his former dutiful self. With a kindly smile he unpacked the Istari's robes and pointy hat and held them out to Olorin.  
  
'Here my friend! For I believe you feel more at ease with your clothes on. I beg your pardon for this fanciful ride through the bowels of the earth and for the discomfort I may have caused you, but it was the shortest and safest way into the mountains and I thought, you may enjoy a beautiful view, before we take our leave from the fair lands of Laurelindorean.'  
  
Olorin gave his companion a strange glance, still absorbed with his memories of another elf on the shores of Valinor. Then he took his clothes, hat and staff and prepared himself for the next part of their quest.  
  
  
  
(1) My heart shall weep until it sees thee again!


	15. Alcarinque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 14 Alcarinque  
  
Legolas dismounted , relieved the sinister and gloomy atmosphere of the Amon Lanc lay well behind. They had everybody through the Narrow of theGreenwood and the hardiest were halfway to the old Forest Road not too far from the dwelling of that strange but kindly wizard Radagast at Rosgobel. It would take a while before the last of his kin would reach the natural barrier of the Mountains of the Great Greenwood. Ninthy leagues in a dense forest were a challenging experience with such a treck, especially for the families who had young elflings. Many of the babes were in a terrible state, unhealthy, subdued and weakened by the shadow. The healers were completely powerless against this strange ailing that seemed to suck their feas from the little bodies.  
  
But while a few had seen the urgency in the Princes' plea' to give up their homes and move from the capital of Amon Lanc to another and healtier part of the great woodland realm, most insisted to drag manifold belongings and possessions with them. Even over the well-trodden forest paths that allowed small carriages to go hither and thither between the Amon Lanc and his father's beloved miniature replica of his ancient home Menegroth, the march would take at least three full moons.  
  
'T'is strange that one day all of us would feel happy with King Thranduil's curious fancy caverns on the banks of the Enchanted River!' Thirion mused, as he too dismounted and joined Legolas on foot. The Captain remembered still how Thranduil, then still the Heir to the Great Greenwood had discovered those caverns on the Eastern Borders of his father's realm and taken to explore them recklessly with an old childhood friend from Doriath, who would occasionally visit and was not afraid of dark places under the earth.  
  
Oropher's subjects, in those days almost exclusively Nandorin and Avari, had been terrified by the young prince's idea to crawl around inside a mountain. But Haldir had often humoured his friend and when his duties allowed him to slip away from Hollin, he'd cross through the dwarven realm of Khazad Dum for a couple of weeks. Thirion himself had seen the caverns only later, after Oropher's death on the Dagorlach.  
  
The King saw nothing wrong with his son's taste for adventure, but he barely accepted that Thranduil would wander off with Haldir. When the two had met at Elu Thingol's court in Doriath as elflings, they had immediately formed a friendship, being of the same age and having a liking for similar past times.  
  
But to Oropher Celeborn's foster son had always been 'that grubby, parentless stray' and his opinion of Haldir never changed, not even after the elfling had grown into a warrior and captain of great renown; not even on the day, when Gil Galadh had entrusted him with the entire elven cavalry that rode with the Last Alliance!  
  
But since Oropher would not authorize any of his warriors to fraternize with his heir and indulge in his adventuring, he bowed ever grudgingly to Haldir as his son's companion of choice.  
  
The caverns had been Thranduil's joy until the drama of the Last Alliance and the Dagorlach came to happen. After the prince's return from that horrible struggle to claim his fallen father's throne, his attitude towards the underground labyrinth changed entirely. He copied Thingol and brought dwarves from the Lonely Mountains to enlarge and transform what nature had created. He also engaged a huge body of his own subjects in the construction works. For even if the Nandorin did not like to go underground, they were still skilful craftsmen and able to work good stone to perfection.  
  
Often had it then appeared to Thirion, that Thranduil's efforts to reproduce a miniature of Menegroth were driven by a panic reaction to the destructions and losses in the great war against Sauron. They had carved out an impressive system of tunnels, lower and upper halls, cellars, a protected gateway and even un underground harbour, where the Enchanted River disappeared within the mountain. And not even cells for prisoners were forgotten...just in case.  
  
And while his King dutifully maintained his father's capital Amon Lanc as the chief city of the Great Greenwood, he indulged himself in lengthy stays in his miniature-Menegroth, attracting even some of his Silvan subjects towards the new stronghold. These elves establish themselves in the region that bordered with Dale and the county of Laketown. First, all they had felt from this change in ruling style was an enhanced traffic of goods between the Silvan folk and the men of Dale. Next friendly relations between the elves and the second born were established and finally the ties with the dwarven folk from Durin's tribe, dwelling in close by Erebor.  
  
Today Thranduil's Captain had the curious feeling, that his King had been possessed with a great farsightedness some thousand years ago, when he had undertaken the building of his underground stronghold and the forming of alliances and friendships on the other side of their eastern boarders.  
  
The King's caverns, also much smaller in size then the Doriath original, were able to shelter the largest part of his people seep under the earth in time of distress. And Greenwood could call upon its neighbours to support them against foes and evil-doers... But would this suffice to combat the shadow that had befallen the Amon Lanc and was reaching out to suck their strength and life force from them? Was this a foe one that could be fought with sword and bow, or from deep caverns under a mountain or would they entrap themselves in their secret keep and slowly perish?  
  
Legolas seemed to read Thirion's thoughts. He was the youngest of his King's sons, but nonetheless possessed great wisdom and farsightedness. And having grown up completely untainted by his grandfather Oropher's prejudiced attitude towards the Silvan elves, whom he never considered the equals of his own Sinda kin, he was deeply enrooted in the Great Greenwood.  
  
'I believe we made the right choice, Thirion!' Legolas said humbly, 'Nobody, not even my adar, understands what has befallen the Amon Lanc. T'is better to retreat from our capital for a while, bring our people to safety and then go to investigate the issue with battle-hardened and experienced warriors. It is a most curious evil that lingers there. Something very old and very, very dangerous. Yrch and goblins I have known all my life and I understand their nasty ways and darkness. They are foul, but not particularly clever and most certainly not very brave, when confronted with a band of determined elves. They have always come into our realm, trying to do mischief and destroy things fair and bright. But it was never.....' He hesitated for a moment,'...t'was never so organized, so determined. They were just ramshackle, petty thieves and murderers, left-overs from another age, seeking vengeance on those who had bested them.'  
  
Thirion nodded. These were almost Haldir's words from his missive: The Captain of Lorien, much experienced in dealing with creatures of shadow and evil and well acquainted with Sauron's armies until the destruction of the Great Deceiver on the slopes of Mount Doom had also stated, that the marauders destroyed by his wardens off the Greenwood borders in a ravine close to the Redhorn Gate had been extremely determined and organized in a way....He shuddered inwardly: In a way, they had been organized while Morgoth's Captain and his Nine Black Riders had been at the height of their evil power and a doom to all good folks in Aman.  
  
  
Silraen blushed when another good citizen of Caras Galadhon gave her a friendly greeting and addressed her as 'Lady Silraen'. She pulled the wicker basket she carried a bit closer to her hip, gave the good elf a most charming smile and accelerated her pace. Haldir had been gone for ten days now and she was trying to fall back into that lonely, but nonetheless comfortable routine that always marked their forced separations. Although nobody in the forest realm knew the true mission that was the cause of their Captain's sudden disappearance, Celeborn had made it public, that she would stay in Laurelindorean and soon become his foster-son's wife. With Haldir hardly through the city gates, the silver lord had launched himself in a frenzy of organisation for the upcoming festivity. While Silraen had once more taken to her chosen profession and continued the task for which Anysse had made her come over from Rivendell, Celeborn had sprinted over to the Lorien weavers and commissioned recklessly lavish tissues for her wedding gown.  
  
She chuckled softly. The silver lord had been deprived of this fatherly pleasure, when Celebrian had taken Elrond as her spouse. The Master of Rivendell had insisted on handling everything himself and to Celeborn's great horror, the wedding had actually taken place in his heaven and not in the Golden Wood.  
  
But Haldir was absent and therefore completely defenceless against the subtle machinations of his enthusiastic foster-father. She was sure that the poor elf would not even be given the choice of colour for his own tunic! So much the better, she thought: Haldir seemed to have the most extensive wardrobe of military attire in all of Aman, going from greyish warden tunic to dark grey buckskin riding trousers and back again, with a smart twinkle of chain mail and some well-worn pieces of elven armour. The single spot of colour she had ever seen on Haldir were the blood red cloak and sash of the Captain of Lorien. As far as she knew her beloved did not own one single civilian garment. She was sure that he would try to wed her in his uniform!  
  
Silraen answered another friendly greeting from another friendly citizen of Caras Galadhon. She had to stop letting her beloved distract her even while he was leagues away: There was the reorganization of the apothecary for the Wardens' House of Healing to think about.  
  
Already before she came from Rivendell, Anysse had had lengthy discussions with the healers of the Wardens, who seemed a bit to determined to rough up their charges returning with bruises, cuts, broken bones and occasional arrows from the fences. It did not do any harm to a warrior, if his necessary treatment was slightly less painful and a bit more comfortable then the actual Lothlorien standard!  
  
And Silraen had had a stand-off on this issue with her soon-to-be father in law Celeborn a couple of days ago: The silver lord had not see any wrong in these methods and even proudly displayed several rather impressive scars of his own, testimony to the rough and ready treatment administered in Laurelindorean. She shook her head and murmured that all of Elrond's soldiery would have started a second kin slaying in Imladris, if ever the Lord or any of the other healers of the heaven would have attempted to set a broken bone without a good draught of painkilling poppy extract from her apothecary....well; not all of them perhaps!  
  
She chuckled softly and remembered how she had witnessed Glorfindel after an in habitual and very humiliating fall from the back of a slightly rowdy young horse hitting his dislocated shoulder back in place against the stable walls. Rough, but efficient. And while the rusticate hero of Gondolin and Captain of Rivendell had only been a bit pale around his fair nose, she had almost fainted! But Glorfindel was -as Celebrian liked to point out - one of these completely mad first-age ellons, as were Celeborn and Haldir and could not be counted as your average warrior.  
  
Anyhow; Glorfindel was completely crazy and none but Elrond himself could approach the normally gentle and polite ellon with healing draughts, bandages or needles. He had scared more healers witless than an enraged warg!  
  
Continuing her musing on Laurelindorean's rough and ready health care for warriors, she took the forest path leading to her dwelling. The wicker basket contained 'embellishments' and she wondered what her Captain would say on his return.  
  
While the Lady of the Golden Wood had convinced Silraen that maintaining her lodgings in one of the guest talans of Caras Galadhon was a farce that did not even work with the city's youngest elflings, Celebrian had found herself a new vocation as chief troublemaker. And Lord Elrond's Lady had found a faithful ally in the Lord of the Golden Wood himself, who -driven by his enthusiasm about the Rivendell addition to his merry tribe - had ordered a good amount of quality wood and commissioned Gelmir, one of the craftiest carpenters of Laurelindorean. Silraen was not been contrary to bring her books and apothecary equipment to the talan that already contained her clothes and womanly necessaries, but she doubted, that Haldir's lofty and rather large home in the crown of one of the highest mellyrn of Caras Galadhon really needed an additional floor and four more chambers. But it made Celeborn happy to mess around in their affairs and Celebrian's enthusiasm was overwhelming and thus she had bowed her fair head and meekly accepted the good offices of her future family.  
  
She had only been a little bit surprised...no, rather worried, when a visiting Galadriel had looked at her with a hint of sadness in her eyes. But Celebrian had hushed Silraen and told her that her naneth had had the same look, when she had accepted Elrond's pledge. 'She is always dotting like a hen over Haldir!' The Lady of Rivendell had told her in a conspirator voice. 'I am not entirely sure that she knows, he's no longer a sweet little elfling!'  
  
Silraen tarried an instant on the stairs watching Gelmir and his workers. It had taken them hardly five days to finish the structure of the new floor and were starting on the details. She wondered, why in Eru's name two grown-up elves would need such a highly sophisticate balustrade on their balcony. Haldir could climb a mallorn in his sleep and as far as she knew, he never fell out of trees and she was no mean climber either and gifted with an excellent sense of equilibrium. It looked nice, nonetheless and really gave her Captain's sober and solid dwelling a lighter touch. Perhaps Galadriel intended to gift them with one of her famed climbing roses for the wedding, a present that appealed much to Silraen, for the rosebuds had a wonderful healing power, calming even the most troubled elf or elfling.  
  
'Elfling!' She pursed her lips and threw a suspicious glance at the balustrade. This looked exactly the same as the adornment on Rumil's and Anysses talan including the small portico, that could not be opened by tiny adventurer hands from the inside. 'Celeborn of Doriath', she sizzled,'...you are a meddler in the affairs of grown-up elves, aren't you!'  
  
Her soon-to-be father in law - renowned tactician and warrior- was preparing the terrain. But he seemingly did not count with the two grown-up elves in question! So this was the direction from where the winds were blowing: The silver lord was seriously thinking that she and Haldir had nothing better to do then provide him within a nick of time with a brood of grandchildren. Silraen took a few steps upwards and parked her wicker basket safely on an intermediary platform. She gave good Gelmir her most convincing good-elleth smile. 'Pray Master, would it be great trouble for you to hang the portico higher?' She asked sweetly, hoping that the craftsman would not see the twinkle of mischief in her eyes.  
  
Gelmir swung lightly from the ladder on which he was perched and jumped with the surefootedness of his profession down onto the intermediary platform. Swapping his hands and brow with a tissue, he nodded courteously to Silraen. 'Lady, well met!' He greeted her.' I would advise against it, for the little ones could crawl out and fall from the tree. It is dangerous, you see. But I can make you a higher portico if you like or add some carved panes on top of this one.'  
  
Silraen patted his hand congenially and shook her hand. 'Nay, Master Gelmir. Do not trouble yourself. T'is well.' She decided that she would have some serious words with Celeborn rather soon. He seemed to forget, that she and Haldir had rather demanding jobs to do and were perhaps a bit old and settled in their own ways to disturb the peace and quite of their lives with a noisy brace of younglings.  
  
They had been quite good at avoiding this little predicament for almost a thousand years, although their relationship was far from chaste and knowing her Captain rather well, she was convinced that he'd continue like that for the next thousand or so, less she'd express other desires. Silraen bade Gelmir, who seemed keen to return to his work a fond farewell and carried her wicker basket up to the talan.  
  
It had been a very demanding day between her students, the apothecary, the Herbal Gardens and the plotting silver lord. She threw the wicker basket a disdainful look and decided that their windows could live another day with Haldir's sober unadorned cotton hangings. Stirring the little fire in the iron oven, she put the tea kettle on and chose from her beloved's well-furnished store cupboard a tasty mix of rose hip, orange blossom and jasmine. She'd also merited a sweet treat. When she dwelled in the Golden Wood, Haldir always kept a generous stock of wonderful home made cookies and although it was clear that with him absent, she'd be obliged to ration the item a bit, she decided that it would do no harm to take two of the little ones with the delicious raspberry jam inside.  
  
Silraen carried her snack of tea and cake outside onto the veranda and dropped contently into her favourite chair.  
  
'I hope, I do not intrude!'  
  
Galadriel had stepped so lightly that Silraen did not realize she had a visitor until the Lady of the Golden Wood stood in front of her.  
  
'No, My Lady! I was just sitting down with fresh tea and a snack. Would you like some?' The younger elleth asked cordially.  
  
'T'is Galadriel, dear child ...or 'naneth', if you will do me this honour.' The Lady replied, folding her tall, slender body onto a softly cushioned and very comfortable chaise-longue, that was usually Haldir's favourite, when he had had enough of sleeping rough on the platforms along the fences.  
  
Silraen blushed. She had known the Lady for ages and had always been treated with great cordiality in the household of the rulers of Laurelindorean, but she knew, that it would take some time to grow accustomed to this familiarity. It was not easy to overcome the old habit and suddenly address the lady of the Light as 'naneth'.  
  
Galadriel laughed with mirth, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, so young and yet so old and all-knowing. 'Has my exuberant husband made decisions over your head, dear?' She pointed a long, slender finger at the elfling-safe portico.  
  
Silraen nodded, serving the Lady some tea and offering her one of the filled cakes. 'He tries very hard, Naneth!' The word took a bit of time to come, but it finally came and it sounded right.  
  
'Do not let you impress by his overbearing attitude. He'll calm down with time and accept your decisions with good humour...alas, the wound of Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen being born in Rivendell is still slightly sore. He loves little ones dearly and would have challenged my father's six, if I'd not have put the foot down.'  
  
While the Lady had spoken with humour, there was nonetheless a slight hint of worry in her eyes. Silraen, being a perceptive elleth realized this immediately. She looked at the Lady of the Golden Wood, pondering her words. Galadriel's sorrowful look from the other day, so nonchalantly brushed away by Celebrian, returned to her memory. She set down her tea cup and straightened slightly in her chair. It was no hazard, that the Lady had chosen to pay her this visit with the Lord Celeborn somewhere taking care of his regular business and Celebrian off to a childhood friend at the other end of the city. The timing was perfect for a tranquile four-eyes!  
  
'Something bothers you, Naneth!' Silraen decided it was better to talk straight and get on and over with it.  
  
She felt in her heart that this was linked to the suspicions Mithrandir had voiced and to his request for Haldir accompanying him on his search after the curious 'Shadow'. And it was also closely linked with her and with Haldir, although it had nothing to do with Galadriel not approving of their union or being contrary to seeing them together for good. For almost one thousand years, since her very first visit to the Golden Wood, when her Captain had made his claim clear to everybody, who was willing to see and to listen, Galadriel had been encouraging both to pursue and deepen the relationship. Silraen knew that the Lady wished for her foster son's personal happiness and had often been critical, when Haldir denied himself the comfort and solace of love for the sake of duty.  
  
Galadriel looked at the elleth. It did not take her highly developed skills to read in the minds of others to comprehend Silraen's thoughts. She had not only accepted but approved Haldir's choice from the very beginning and she had been much more capable then Celeborn to understand the reasons for his lengthy and prudent courting of the elleth. She had been able to comprehend, that one who had been bound to duty and service from the moment he'd been strong enough to wield a blade in full armour, felt troubled by the idea to impose his chosen path in life upon another being that was dear to his heart. Haldir had seen too much grief and sorrow from loss and understood the relativity of the immortality of the first-born. Elves mated for life and the loss of one led inexorably to the fading of the other, lest he or she would depart from the shores of Aman and sail into the West. And while Celeborn and Elrond had had a choice to lay down their swords and take to a less dangerous path in life, he had not...never had.  
  
The Lady of Lorien gave a small sigh: Before she had even seen Celeborn's elfling , she had learned from her mentor Melian what Elu Thingol had understood with his perceptiveness and farsightedness. Elu had known the other one, who had Haldir's eyes and when Celeborn had brought his elfling to Doriath he had seen, what no other elf in Aman would have seen.  
  
It was not within the youngling's soul that the had spied a glimpse of that other elf, but in his eyes and features. Elu's words to Celeborn had not been a prophecy, but a simple statement of fact and also it was not Haldir's choice of fault, the doom of the Valar could not be undone....not for him and not for her who had brazenly left Valinor without the permission of the Powers in pursuit of her pride and ambition.  
  
And while the Silver Tree, who had shared Thingol's words with her, was convinced that everything his granduncle said related to the fact that he had bound himself to her and was thus entangled in the Doom of the Valar in the same sense, the one he had chosen for a son was entangled by that choice, she knew that Haldir fell under the terrible prophecy of Mandos by the simple fact of who his true father was.  
  
'Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever. Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death's shadow. For though Eru appointed ye to die not in Eä, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken.'  
  
Galadriel knew well the true name of Haldir's 'Nana', who had laboured so hard to find a way out of the Iron Hell of Angband in order to return the little one to his elven kin, for she, the daughter of Boromir of the House of Beor had loved one of the elven kin herself, although he departed from motives of wisdom, as he felt his coming death...Galadriel's elder brother Aegnor! And she had known his true father who often visited her during the Siege of Angband, when she was grieving for her fallen beloved, to converse with her on the matters of Elves and Men. Andreth she was called by her kin, but Finrod had given her the epesse 'Saelind' -'Wise Heart' in the elven tongue.  
  
She had been taken with many others from the House of Beor, when Morgoth broke the siege of his fortress, some ten years prior to the birth of Haldir and she had been there, in the Hells of Iron, when the one, whom her brother Barahir had saved at the Dagor Bragollach came to Angband with Beren, Barahir's son to fulfill his oath.  
  
Galadriel did not know if Saelind had been witness to the battle of magic between her eldest brother and Sauron, but she was sure that the sister of Barahir would have seeked out her friend and his eleven companions of misery the very moment, they had been taken down to their terrible prison.  
  
Galadriel imagined how Finrod - exhausted from his terrible battle with Sauron and the endless torments in that place of dread and sorrow, where he was imprisoned for three long years - might have found solace and oblivion in the arms of another desperate, captive. His eyes veiled with despair and pain may have seen the face of his beloved Amarie in that face. She assumed that Saelind, after Finrod's death and realizing that this companion of misery carried his child, had taken that elleth under her protection. And when she died delivering her brother's child, Saelind had gathered all her remaining strenght and cunning in order to bring the last living remainder of what had been her friend Finrod to safety.  
  
But such knowledge she would not reveal to Silraen, for she had not even revealed it to her beloved Celeborn or to Haldir himself. She had only gifted her brother's son with Finrod's fine Noldorin blade 'Alcarinque', that he had long ago left in her keeping, when Elu Thingol had reprimanded him for a kinslaying he had never been part of.  
  
Something deep in her heart had wished for the Fair Child to possess at least one thing that once had been his true father's. But in her long life she had learned, that sometimes it was better if certain things remained unspoken, for saying them aloud would only accelerate and force the wheel of destiny. And the vision she had had in her mirror proved that her decision had been wise and just and the best thing for all concerned. But there was something she could do without challenging the will of the greater Powers. She could delay the doom that lay upon her brother's child, whom she had raised as her own. She could give him and his beloved time together, before the inevitable would happen.  
  
And so she spoke to Silraen!


	16. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 15 - Memories  
  
The sun reflected almost painfully in the virginal snow, covering the peak of Mount Celebdil, but Fanuidhol the Grey was settled in great clouds. And the peak of Caradhras was melting with the sky. In a rare moment of peace, the cruel mountain had taken the colour of the setting sun. Olorin spied several eagles surfing playfully on the winds and a little bit lower a merlin stood still in stationary flight over some soon-to-be prey.  
  
Haldir's chosen path overlooked a deep ravine, as it wound up the eastern side of Fanuidhol's smaller brother, whom the elves called Amras Calmcacil - the Maiden Head. It was a very narrow passage, but less dangerous then the Redhorn Gate of Caradhras and it allowed the two companions to outflank the dwarven realm of Khazad Dum together with its well-travelled path leading to the Doors of Durin. And while the friendship between elves and dwarves was no longer as strong as in the days of the two great craftsmen Narvi and Celebrimbor, the traffic from and into Khazad Dum was still considerable.  
  
Haldir threw Mithrandir an amused sideway glance. The old fellow was confident and marched at an easy step. He supposed that the wizard had already negotiated Caradhras and the Redhorn Gate on his travels between the elven realms on both sides of the Misty Mountains and that passage was indeed more difficult then their leisurely walk from Laurelindorean. And since they had left the tormented paths through the bowels of the Thôl Talagand, Mithrandir had proven himself a likeable companion; he neither complained, nor did he indulge in meaningless chit-chat.  
  
Haldir discarded the idea of a short rest and quick luncheon and decided, that Galadriel's fishy friend was more then capable to keep up with him until sunset. Turning his attention back to the pass and the small bushes that grew down into the ravine, the Captain pulled his huge Galadhrim bow from the quiver and strung it easily, without even pausing his steps. He fingered one of the lighter and smaller hunting arrows from his quiver and placed it on the bowstring. Tonight's hosts would welcome a tasty morsel of fresh meat, and the ibex that lived here where not difficult to hunt. He decided to try and take down a young male, if he had the choice.  
  
Olorin had fallen into the daily routine of following his companion and paid more attention to the beautiful countryside, then to Haldir and the sudden release of the arrow, followed by a dull thud starteled the Istari out of his revelry. But before he could ask Haldir what had happened, the elf disappeared from the path, leaping easily from stone to stone until he came to a small copse.  
  
The ibex had taken the iron point through the shoulder right into its heart and died instantly. Making a small incision with his hunting knife, Haldir recovered the arrow and put it back into the quiver. He threw his prey over the shoulder and returned highly pleased to the path and his elderly charge. 'Diner!' He informed Olorin happily.  
  
'Although on occasions I do appreciate red meat off the bone...Isn't that a bit much just for the two of us?' The Istari enquired. The primary surprise of the unexpected arrow shot and sudden disappearance of the elf had passed.  
  
Haldir smiled, a twinkle of mischief in his storm grey eyes. 'We will not be alone for diner tonight, Grey Wanderer! After some ten days of living rough, I believe that you appreciate some creature comforts, a roof and a hot bath.'  
  
Olorin looked at the Captain quizzically. They were in a literal no-man's land halfway between Laurelindoréan and the river Gladden and the elf spoke of a hot bath, a roof and creature comforts. Who would dwell in such a rough and forsaken place and offer them these conveniences? For sure, he knew of a small hobbit-like people that dwelt in the Gladden Fields and were fishermen. They were broader in build than the Harfoots and Fallohides he had encountered south of Elrond's heaven Rivendell and called themselves Stoors, but he was unaware of any of them dwelling high up in the mountains.  
  
Haldir read his thoughts. The mischievious twinkle in his eyes became brighter. Under normal circumstances it would not have hurt to leave the old trickster to brood over what or who would keep a settlement close to a mountain peak, but such a little joke could backfire, considering the quality of their soon-to-be hosts and Mithrandir was running a fair risk to end up in their cocking pot! He knew them well and a certain level of trust , even a strange friendship existed, but this did not exclude occasional misunderstandings that ended at sabre's point. He was not so sure that his wizard would be able to appreciate Orthrod and his clan without some prior advertisement and explanation.  
  
'When we left the pass way through Thôl Talagand, I told you about a small band of renegades. T'is them we will stay with tonight.' He said matter-of-factly. 'They own me a favour and I intend to call it in.'  
  
'Are they of the second-born?' Olorin asked intrigued. He had almost forgotten the casual remark of the Captain.  
  
Haldir shook his fair head, adjusting the ibex more comfortably over the broad of his back. 'Nay! I would not tolerate them so close to my borders. We have already sufficient troubles with bandits, riding out of the eastern lands of Gondor and who are attracted by the hilarious lore that the elves of Laurelindorean hide great treasures in their lands. Tonight, 'He said, and his voice was all of a sudden very serious,'...we shall be guests of Orthrod and his clan.'  
  
Olorin's eyes widened in surprise. 'Orthrod?'  
  
Haldir nodded thoughtfully. 'Indeed a darker tale some of the wise of my kin yet tell, saying that the Orcs were verily in their beginning of the Quendi themselves, a kindred of the Avari unhappy and whom Morgoth cozened, and then made captive, and so enslaved them, and brought them utterly to ruin. But deep inside a very few always faintly remembered, who and what they once have been and some of these fought at our side against the Great Deceiver in the Battle of the Last Alliance, for they hate Morgoth and his lieutenant Sauron more then they ever hated us! All living things were divided in that day, and some of every kind, even of beasts and birds, were found in either host, save the Elves only. They alone were undivided and followed Gil-Galad.'  
  
Olorin shook his head slightly, as in disbelieve. His eyes were rifted on the warrior in front of him. Haldir meant what he said! And moreover, he had spoken without the slightest hint of revulsion or scorn. The Captain of the Galadhrim, who in Galadriel's garden had spoken with high emotions of the failures of the second-born through the ages and would not suffer them close to the borders of the Golden Wood allowed a band of renegade yrch to dwell there in peace and seemed even in regular contact with them.  
  
'What?' Haldir enquired. His voice was soft, but underneath Olorin felt steel.  
  
Since he had succeeded his scheme and talked Artanis into ordering the Captain of Laurelindorean to help him unveil the mystery of the shadow of the Misty Mountains, the ellon had seemed rather subdued, a warrior into whom obedience and duty were so deeply engrained that he'd jump from the peak into the crack of Mount Doom if this was his Lord's and Lady's command. Obviously he had misjudged his unwilling travel companion. He lifted a hand in sign of appeasement.  
  
Haldir gave a curt nod, but the steel did not leave his storm grey eyes. Watched the wizard intently, but refrained from another attempt to creep into his mind. Had he not been Galadriel's friend, he would not have refrained from such brutal scrutiny, with or without the consent of the subject, but he would not trespass the boundaries of oath and fealty to the Lady, not even for the sake of his own skin. For the instant of a heartbeat he resented her power over him and considered to consult with Celeborn, for Laurelindorean was still in the reach of his capacities to farspeak with his adar. Almost immediately he rejected the idea and called himself a fool. He was much to old to run and hide behind Celeborn’s back in such a ridiculous situation. Some thousand years ago, on the Dagorlach and in a desperate attempt to save the skins of two fools, he had thrown an entire heavy elven cavalry and several thousand lives into a battle without the orders of Gil Galad. He was quite capable to stand up to a meddlesome old trickster and take his own council yet and now.  
  
'You requested something of me, Grey Wanderer!' He said in a firm voice.' You wanted my memories of the past to shed light on your suspicions concerning the shadow that haunts these mountains. Some of these memories may not please you, but this will not make them disappear. You can either take it or leave it Mithrandir, but if you truly desire to have good intelligence concerning that supposed foe who seems to try and invest our lands with his malice, then you better accept the hospitality that will be offered tonight with good graces. You can protect yourself well and I can protect you against many dangers, too, but nobody will protect you against your own foolishness!'  
  
He turned on his heel, getting a firm grip on the venison on his shoulders and marched off into the direction of Orthrod's cavern without even a second glance at Mithrandir. If Galadriel's meddlesome friend was a pretentious fool and too stupid to seek out a good occasion for reliable intelligence and handy service, than he could not be helped. Anyhow, Laurelindorean was still visible down South and could not be missed, even by a stubborn old fellow with overly bushy eyebrows and a very crocked and dangerously long nose.  
  
Haldir marched on, brooding in silence. It was already hard enough to keep his inhabitual partnership with Thongrod's clan working with Thirion's rambunctious Greenwood Wardens and Durin's Naugrim warriors on the romp. He would not allow over and above another meddlesome creature to envenom this fragile relation.  
  
Olorin stared angrily after the Captain of the Galadhrim. This elf was neither particularly subdued nor especially cooperative. As to his ingrained obedience and sense of duty; he started to have serious doubts. Celeborn left him probably free reign over the defences of Laurelindorean, to do as he pleased. The glorious warrior of Elrond Half-Elven's tales was nothing more then a rotten-spoiled, haughty and arrogant princeling, who had had his ways ever since the infamous day, when he had managed to snake-charm that bore Celeborn of Doriath, with whom bright Artanis had had the bad taste to consort. He threw a last, wistful glance at the towering high mallyrn of Laurelindorean, bit his tongue and drugged after Haldir in a mood that would have made a cave troll look like prince charming.  
  
  
  
The sun was setting right over the mountain tops and a soft, red light flattered the still abundant vegetation. It also seemed to have a calming influence on his bad mood. For the last three and a half hours, the continuous 'tock-tock' of the old trickster's staff on granite stone had been nagging on Haldir's nerves, dissolving into nothingness the small amount of good will towards Mithrandir and his mad quest, that had slowly grown since the chimney of Thôl Talagand.  
  
He was no coward, but the very idea to be forced to relive once again his worst childhood nightmares had been enough to unhinge Haldir and wear away his hard won peace of mind and balance. Only with a tremendous effort had he been able to contain his fears in front of Silraen and Celeborn had almost managed to tear off his mask, when he had told him about Galadriel's vision in the 'Birdbath of Doom'.  
  
Haldir hated the stone basin and the silver pincher and the forest well all together passionately, knowing against his own better judgement, that almost all the things she foresaw in the clear waters came true one day or another. He could not care less, if ever she predicted his own doom in battle. He lived by the sword for almost five thousand years now and he knew very well, that one day or another he too would met his match in a skirmish or on a field of battle. He had seen many a so-called invincible captain fall!  
  
Mablung had been only the first and he still remembered the strokes of the axes of the Naugrim of Nogrod that brought Elu's captain to his knees before the light faded forever from his eyes in the guarded treasury of the Thousand Caves of Menegroth. Haldir had been some thirty years old then...and he had just killed his first foe.  
  
His memories of bloodshed, gore and horror from the Fall of Doriath through the Sundering of Beleriand, the destruction of Eregion and Hollin, the slaughter on the Brandywine, the massacre on the Dagorlach and the battle of Mount Doom were unbroken and as lively as those of yesterday eve's diner. Long before the day when Sauron was finally destroyed by Gil Galad and Isildur had he given up the count on his own wounds and his sullen acceptance of danger and pain had contributed more to his continuing existence in the Hitherlands then Elrond's and Silraen's prowesses as healers. But the idea of seeing his Galadhrim maimed and slaughtered upon the battlements of a dark fortress in some god-forsaken, dark forest of shadows and evil was beyond his capacity to endure. Only for their sake and because of the faint hope that even the wisest could not truly tell what the Mirror showed, had he gone with Mithrandir upon this mad quest!  
  
He lifted his face towards the dying sun, closing his eyes and relishing for the time of a heartbeat life and the beauty of the lands that surrounded him. Then he straightened and squared his shoulders defiantly. Forcing upon his face a mask of calm composure he turned and looked at the wizard.  
  
'Khila Amin, Grey Wanderer!' He heard his own surprisingly disimpassioned voice. 'Follow me! We are almost there and perhaps already tonight you shall find a few answers to your questions about the shadow!'


	17. The Lord of the Nazgul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 16 – The Lord of the Nazgûl

Legolas and Orodhrim watched their father attentively. The King of the Woodland Elves was pale like a ghost. Deep lines of sorrow were etched deeply into his fair face and his eyes looked red, as if from crying. Never ever before had they seen Thranduil in such a sorry state!

He had abandoned the stretcher on which he had been transported since the incident on the Amon Lanc, but refused to ride with his sons. Instead he was walking with his people. For the last hour or so, the King had been by the side of a young elven couple, talking softly to the elleth and holding the hand of their small elfling, who lay prone and almost lifeless on a small cart, drawn by a tiny, grey donkey. Even the beast seemed subdued, its ears hanging on both sides of its gentle-faced head, it drugged along the forest path as if all the burdens of Arda were loaded on the wagon.

‘If he continues like that, he will stand in front of the Gates of Namo’s Halls long before we reach the Caves and the Enchanted River.’ Orodhrim whispered to his younger brother.

Legolas shook his head and gave a deep sigh. The Greenwood and his people were Thranduil’s life and soul. He loved both so deeply, that whatever befell one of his subjects or a morsel of his land went deep into his guts and bones. Often had they seen him unassumingly visiting some elleth and her newborn or sit by the bedside of a warden, who had been wounded on the fences. Whenever one of his subjects answered the Call of the Sea and decided to make for the Heavens of Mithlond and Cirdan’s grey ships, Thranduil resented the departure as a personal failure, having been unable to give to one particular elleth or ellon the taste to stay on in his forest realm and enjoy the beauty and the freedom of the Hitherlands. Many elves from the other realms who did not know him well, called him Thranduil the Nasty, for their adar could display an impressive temper and behave like an enraged mountain lion, when provoked or crossed, but to his own people he was a tender and caring father, much beloved and held in high esteem. To see him in such a state of distress could not be good for the morale of the Woodland Elves! Legolas winced. They had to do something, even if he had no precise idea, what this should be. But they had to find a way and get their adar out of his distress and back into his lion mood.

Orodhrim seemed to guess his younger brother’s thoughts. ‘You know, muindor,’ He said slowly,’ the brown wizard of Rhosgobel is a wise and learned man and well versed in the lore of nature and living creatures. I have paid him visits on occasion and …’ He smiled contently, ‘there is something about him…a strange and very powerful aura…you know, as if you’d catch a glimpse of Oromë ridding by on Nahar and gracing the forest with his might and strength. T’is not a simple old man, I tell you, but someone very old, for in his eyes you can see the Light of the Trees and when he talks, t’is like a far sound of the fair songs of the Ainur.’

‘Radagast?’ Legolas was surprised and highly intrigued by his brother’s description. He too had met the fellow on occasions, chiefly when he went out to check on the wardens’ posts close to the Old Forest Road, but the gentle, old man, who talked with birds and the animals of the wild had never given him such an impression. But for his height, when he would not crouch on his gnarled staff, he’d believed him to be one of the curious little Stoor folk, fishermen dwelling in the marshes and on the shores of the Gladden…perhaps a kind of shaman or spiritual guide to the periannath, but nothing more, although he too had felt the benign magic of Radagast.

Orodhrim nodded.’Exactly. There is nothing foul or dark in him, but he has a strong, earthbound magic. Mayhap one of us should ride to Rhosgobel and ask Radagast to come and have a look on the Amon Lanc. Perhaps he knows what this darkness is…..don’t you remember that horrible tale adar once told us on Midwinter Eve: The Lore of the Gloomweaver Gwerlum who drained the Two Trees of Valinor and the wells of Varda before fleeing with Morgoth to Aman?’

Legolas nodded. He remembered the tale very well. Thranduil had frightened him almost witless, when he had been an elfling…to their naneth’s great distress! ‘But the elder tell, that she ended long ago, when in her uttermost famine she devoured herself at last.’

‘Dunce!’ Orodhrim cuffed his younger brother’s arm.’I do not think that somehow the Gloomweaver has survived all the ages of Arda, just to creep into the Greenwood and make herself a nice nest under the Amon Lanc. But the elders also tell, that she spawned a brood with lesser spider monsters, while haunting the Ereth Gorgoroth in Beleriand of old. Perhaps one of these crossbreads has survived the sundering. Who knows, muindor! T’is a beginning to unveil this shadowy secret that is creeping over our lands.’

Legolas returned the brotherly cuff.’T’is indeed a beginning! Go you and try to drag this rusty eremit from his abode and see if he may be of help in our predicament. I will keep watch on adar and as soon as everybody is safely settled along the northern borders and around the caverns, Thirion and myself will do the honourable warrior thing and mount a small force of volunteers to go back to the Amon Lanc and explore the tunels. Perhaps we’ll find a nasty spawn of the Gloomweaver and you come in right handy with your friend Radagast.’

Orodhrim gave his brother a coquetish mock bow, turned his steed and made his way into the forest and towards Rhosgobel.

Olorin stood quietly in the shade of a large rock. The muscular, tall and blackskinned creature had appeared out of nowhere all of a sudden. It was about the same height as Haldir, but slightly broader in the shoulders. Long raven hair fell in extensive, little braids almost down to the crude leather swordbelt, that was his only adornment. His long, strong limbs were naked and it wore only a kind of short buckskin skirt that hardly covered its modesty. Never before, since he had arrived in Aman had he seen such a peculiar looking orc. Its cheeckbones were almost as finely cissled as Haldir’s and he had a fine, straight nose, high brow and well-defined pointy ears. But for the colour of its skin and eyes, one could have almost confunded it with an elf.

The orc was armed to its teeth. Two long, unadorned knifes where stuck in a crossbelt over his chest, a long, curved blade hung from the swordbelt and in its hand it held a huge bow made from the wood of the hew tree and a crude quiver, filled with black-fletched arrows. It seemed much stronger, then any other orc, Olorin had ever encountered in the Hitherlands, and surprisingly….it was much cleaner. The awful stench that habitually emanated from these creatures, before the eye even perceived them was amiss!

The tall orc had greeted Haldir in the warrior style, clasping both forearms of the Galadhrim Captain. And Haldir had replied in the same fashion. They had exchanged a few words in something that ressembled a dark mockery of the high elven tongue and the Istari realized to his great surprise, that Celeborn’s foster son seemed very much at ease in this dark language, speaking it not only fluently but unflinching. It did not seem to hurt the elf at all.

Habitually his kin would shudder and pale, when confronted with the language that Melkor had created to insult the Valar and mock their firstborn children. Then, after a while they reverted to the common tongue and Haldir motionned to where Olorin stood, apparently pleading the Istari’s cause with the orc, who seemed not tremendously happy with the presence of the elven captain’s companion. He even gnarlled at Haldir, bleaking his yellowish fangs and trusting his hand to the hilt of his crude blade.

Olorin took a firmer grip on his staff, preparing to intervene immediately if things should turn sour. He was not willing to risk their quest just to humour the whim of Celeborn’s foster son, but instead of taking to arms and finishing their discussion at the point of their blades, Haldir gave a soft, jaunty laugh and clapped the orc in a friendly way on his broad shoulders, shaking his head good-naturedly and pointing at the carcass of the ibex at his feet.

And the orc replied in the same fashion, although his way of showing mirth made Olorin’s blood run cold. He had never ever seen a stranger encounter: It was almost, as if Cirdan the Shipwright would suddenly take the fancy to have afternoon tea with Khamul, the Lord of Sauron’s Ringwraiths.

But while the orc picked up the ibex and threw it over his shoulder, Haldir signalled to him to leave his comforting boulder and follow them onto a narrow path that led into a small, well hidden valley.

Olorin watched in wonder when some twenty of that curious orc-breed appeared from within a mountain cavern. Most of them were males, similar in size and looks to the first one , who had receptioned them on the mountain path, but some seemed to be females and he even spied two or three imps, hiding behind their elders. All, but these imps were armed and the females looked as bellicious and fierce as the males…and they all seemed really pleased to see Celeborn’s Captain.

The Istari kept to the backstage, leaving the diplomatic part of the evening to his companion. He felt tremendously uneasy, when one of the females, after having served a crude mug of earthware to Haldir came over to him. Her eyes were guarded and defiant, but nonetheless…she served him a drink.

Celeborn’s Captain seemed to ignore him, settling comfortably on a treetrunk, chatting and sipping from his crude mug. Once again, the Captain had turned back to the abominable black speech.

Seemingly left to his own devices, but in no danger from their strange company, Olorin decided to find himself a seat and try the orc brew. Since Haldir drank it without taking harm, it was evidently not poisoned. For a long while – the females had dressed the ibex and put it over a large fire close to the entrance of their cavern – he could only observe. They spoke of triffles, of hunting and …of their families. His powers allowed Olorin to comprehend the contents of the discussion.

One of the yrch warriors pointed to one of the females and explained that she was carrying a new imp and Haldir congratulated the brute, telling him in the same line that he had finally pledged his fair Rivendell bride and would soon make her his wife! The entire scene was too disturbing to be cosy. An elf and a bunch of Morgoth’s spawn fraternizing. Never in the history of Arda…No! He corrected himself: They must have fraternized before, because it was indeed true that a few of that spawn had fought with Gil Galad and against Sauron some thousand years ago.

Haldir emptied his mug and stretched it out for a refil and Orthrod’s female obliged him. He knew that Mithrandir felt very uneasy, alone in the dark and leaning his aged back against an uncomfortable stone, but it could not be helped. There were certain courtesies to be observed, if he wanted Orthrod’s clan in a receptive and helpful mood.

When they had shown up some thousand years ago, declaring that they hated Sauron more then Gil Galad and all the elves of Arda, the High King had been sensible enough to not shun a potential ally…even if this ally was a spawn of Morgoth and under normal circumstances the chief enemy of elvenkind.

But none of his great captains, not even Elrond, had had the openness of mind to accept them fight by his side and Elendil together with his captains had been altogether against such dangerous and potentially treacherous alliance.

Haldir had stood in the backrow close to a dwarven captain from Durin’s tribe listening to the whole brawl, when the dwarf had suddenly grumbled something about fools and enemies of his enemies. And notwithstanding the fact, that he was not tremendously fond of the stunted ones since the slaughter in Doriath, he had found reason in the words of his neighbor. And when Gil Galad had been close to the point of dismissing Orthrod, telling him that certain things simply were not possible, he had taken his courage and stepped forward, telling the mighty lords that he was willing to fight with everybody who was an enemy of Sauron.

Celeborn had thrown him a glance that could have smouldered a balrog, but Gil Galad had seemed tremendously relieved and Orthrod’s small band were quickly hushed off to Haldir’s heavy cavalry.

They had been his trackers and scouts for seven long years and on the Dagorlach none of them had shunned the enemy. They had fought their dark bretheren from Mordor as valiantly and courageously as each and every elf from Greenwood or Laurelindorean and many had paid their allegiance to Gil Galad and the Last Alliance of Elves and Men with their lives.

When all had been over and he had returned from Rivendell and his lengthy sickbed, he had had the first real fight with Celeborn, imposing upon his foster father and Lord the warriors’ code of never letting down a comrade-in-arms. It had been the hardest fight of Haldir’s life, also not a single drop of blood was shed and in the end the Silver Tree had given in to him…also for the first time in Haldir’s life.

And so it had come to happen, that a small clan of renegade yrch lived by the borders of Laurelindorean and carried crude emblema of a golden mallorn leaf on their shields, for they recognized the Silver Tree as their overlord and had sworn to rally to his call in times of need to fight by the side of the Galadhrim.

Haldir tussled the black mane of one of the imps, who brought him a wodden plate with roasted ibex meat. Then he stood up and went over to Mithrandir.

He had explained to Orthrond and his warriors that the Grey Wanderer held the friendship of the Silver Tree and Lady and meant no harm to them, although they all could feel his strange light magic and were a bit frightened of him. But finally they had come to the decision, that Mithrandir could sit with them, share their meal and ask his questions.

Haldir himself had given them a short, watered-down version of the purpose of their quest and was already well aware of a dark force that tried to pull them from their safe heaven and towards the North. But Orthrond’s clan was unable to tell him precisely what tried to pull them and were exactly the dark sorcery came from. To long ago had they betrayed their dark master and forsaken his cause and all of them vaguely remembered what they had been before Morgoth marred, enslaved, broke and finally twisted them into his evil soldiers. And the simple fact that for the last ten centuries or so they had not been under his dominion, had given them a strong resistance against calls from the abyss of the darkness. Orthrond was even furious and resentful and he had sworn –using an astonishing panoplia of abominable swearwords in his own tongue- that only over his dead body this evil menace would destroy the peace and the lives of his tribe.

The chieftain was also aware of several bands of yrch and snaga who had left their hideouts in the foothills of the Misty Mountains and the Dunland and were actually trecking towards the High Pass and the North. But they were too numerous for Orthrond and his warriors and they did not dare to hunt them down on their own, so he asked if the Galadhrim would be willing to join with them in a preventory strike against the marauders.

Haldir crouched in front of the wizard, who sat with his eyes closed, breathing softly as if asleep. He held out the wooden plate, hoping the large crocked nose would be attrackted by the smell of roast meat. He did not want to wake him.

‘I am not asleep.’ Olorin replied softly. ‘I was just wondering, if you’d forgotten an old man and your good manners, Captain!’

‘So you have decided to be reasonable, Grey Wanderer?’

‘I feel not very much at ease, Haldir…but I shall heed your advise for once.’

‘Then come and join us at the fireside. They are willing to speak with you and partake what they know.’

Elrond rubbed his bleary eyes wearily. His spine was aching and his shoulders so stiff, that each movement was torment. He closed the ancient manuscript and put it aside on an already considerable stack of other leather bound volumes. What Celebrian had told him some ten days ago was most disturbing. He had immediately written a long missive to Cirdan in Mithlond and send forth the most trustworthy of his courriers on the speediest horse of the stables of Rivendell. And ever since he had searched through his library which contained the complete history and memory of Aman together with innumbrable tomes on occurences that had taken place in the Blessed real before the Flight of the Noldor in the hope of finding perhaps an hint, an indication concerning the so-called shadowy presence around the Amon Lanc. He cursed Mithrandir inwardly. Why had the wizard been so stubborn and not shared his suspicions with those of the Eldar, who were knowledgable of lore, history and politics.

Why had he opened himself only to Galadriel in far-away Laurelindorean, pushing her to the point, where she weakened the defenses of her realm in order to allow him the pursuit of this shadow?

If ever this shadow should avere itself to be one of the Nine, what could an old wizard and a elven warrior –even one so ancient, brave and wise as Haldir- do against him?

Haldir must have been terribly angry with Galadriel and probably also with the Grey Wanderer. If there was one elf in Aman, who knew exactly that it was impossible to do whatsoever against a Ring Wraith, even diminished and no longer under the evil dominion of Sauron, then it was his play-brother and childhood friend Haldir.

During the terrible Battle of Dagorlad, when Amdir Malgalad together with Oropher had been cut from the rest of Gil Galads forces, to be driven off into the marshes bordering the great, treeless, open plain between the Emyn Muil and Cirith Gorgor, his friend had tried to buy them time to regroup and extract themselves from that dangerous position with his heavy elven cavalry.

And Haldir’s fine project to drive with his horses like a spearpoint into the orc host that threw itself against the Kings of the Greenwood and of Laurelindorean, in order to open up a way of retreat for the Silvans had almost worked out….until his left flank had been faced with obe of Sauron’s wraiths, leading warg riders into the elven charge. Haldir’s second-in-command –driven by the blood and battle rage- had challenged the wraith with his sword…but no elf or man with a weapon forged on an anvil and hardened in normal fire was able to touch one who had already entered the realm of shadows.

In his rage against the challenger, the wraith had appeared in a hellish fire, blinding the elf and his steed. They recovered Arphenion from the bloody field nontheless and he was still alive when they brought him to to the healers, but his eyes had been taken by the Nazgul, the arm that had wielded the sword and struck the undead horror through the black attire into the nothingness of its faded body was burned to the bones and the elf’s mind destroyed beyond recovery by the terrible cry of death, which was the Nine’s most destructive weapon. In the same night Arphenion had thrown himself onto his sword to end his own misery!

Elrond gave a deep sigh, stood up and stretched his aching back: it would not help to dwell on the past and the Dagorlad. The sollution of the riddle of Mithrandir’s shadow would not be found there, but somewere else, he was sure of it. A ring wraith deciding to manifest himself more then onethousand years after the destruction of Sauron and stepping out into the open, however carefully, could be the beginning of most terrible events.

Already since the death of its tenth king, Eärendur, some fivehundred years ago, the lands that once had been Arnor were shaken by unending civil war. The King’s eldest son, Amlaith had claimed Kingship over all Arnor but was in the end reduced to only ruling the region of Arthedain as his kingdom, while the other sons founded the kingdoms of Cardolan and Rhudaur. Elendil’s old capital Annúminas on the shores of Lake Nenuial had long become depopulated and fallen into ruin. In addition to the civil war, the three kingdoms had frequent border skirmishes over boundary disputes and while the relationship of Arthedain and Cardolan remained still relatively peaceful, Rhudaur was unfriendly towards the two other successor states, and engaged in a bitter and bloody conflict with Cardolan over the tower of Amon Sûl and the palantír that was kept in the tower. The decline of the Northern Dúnedain was already long beyond repair…and Rivendell and the Elven Haven of Mithlond both had long common borders with the warmongerish and restless descendants of Elendil and his Numenoreans.

Considering the simple fact, that Elrond’s closest neigbour – Arthedain was not only fighting with its two bretheren Cardolan and Rhudaur, but also with the descendants of the traitor Ulfang the Black on their north-eastern borders, close to the Mount Gundabad, it was a possibility that Mithrandir’s shadow of the Misty Mountains would snatch the occasion and try to use his evil powers also upon these villain Northern Men. This could mean a thread not only to Lorien and Greenwood, but also to his own realm and Mithlond.

It was imperative to investigate the matter in depth and to clearly identify the shadow, before something terrible would come to happen, that could once more drown their world in blood.

Elrond closed the door of his library and strode purposefully to the study of his counselor Erestor. It was not enough to send an inquisitive missive concerning Mithrandir and his fears to Cirdan. He would take saddle and ride himself. Whatever the shipwright new of these five seemingly elderly men who had come from Valinor to Aman could be of the highest importance. For if ever they were truly what Elrond suspected them to be, then indeed terrible times were coming …not only for the elves, but also for all living beings of these lands.

Olorin accepted readily his ninth or tenth mug of the orc brew and the female no longer watched him with guarded eyes and suspicion, but gave him some strange snarl, that seemed to be the orc equivalent of a smile. The brew wasn’t that bad…not after the lengthy account that Orthrond, the chieftain had given him of the assembling of snagas, goblins and other filthy creatures in Goblin Town right over the High Pass. He could even have done with something stronger then that brew, which had about the same effect on him as dwarven ale or the beer of the Harfoots.  
  
Orthrond spoke a surprisingly good Westron, but occasionally slipped into the elven tongue, when he tried to explain more complexe things. Olorin had the feeling that he talked not only with Haldir, but also with other Galadhrim wardens and thus knew exactly what was expected of him: Quantities of foes, equipment, dark beasts like wolves or wargs accompanying them and detailed descriptions in order to figure out from whence they hailed.

Haldir had not interfered, when the Istar had started the questioning of his highly unusual comrades-in-arms. He sat silently by the fireside, observing with watchful eyes the interaction between him and the yrch. But Olorin was not deceived by the Captain’s casual attitude.

One of the imps had crawled into Haldir’s lap for a nap and he stroked the little being's black mane, singing softly to it in that abominable language of their hosts. Nonetheless, his shoulders were tense and he was ready to intervene immediately should any of the discussing parties make a misstep or cross boundaries. Olorin wondered, what these boundaries were that would turn Orthrond and his relatively tame clan back into feral beasts.

‘And what of the Great Goblin in Goblin Town?’ Olorin asked curiously. He wondered, if Haldir’s yrch had an idea where he hailed from. After the downfall of Sauron in the Battle on Mount Doom, most of the surviving yrch, goblin, troll and other creatures of evil spell-enslaved ran hither and thither mindless for a long, long time and some cast themselves in pits and others even slew themselves. It had been exactly the same situation, when Morgoth was at last removed from Arda and his dark creatures that survived in the West were scattered, leaderless and almost witless, they are aimless, even reduced to ant-like form, especially those who had dwelt long under the immediate attention of his will. And while some of these recovered with time and gathered enough wits of their own to do mischief and stir chaos for their own purposes, most awoke from their state of mindless indifference only at the very moment, when Sauron returned from the East of the world, where he had fled after the War of Wrath and the Defeat of his master Morgoth. For ten centuries while he was not seen in the West of Middle-Earth the creatures of his master where lethargic, but as the first millennium of the Second Age of Arda turned, Sauron came back, taking for himself the fenced and mountaineous land of Mordor and from this very moment, when he had started to build his mighty dark tower of Barad-dûr he called out to all surviving servants of Morgoth and they all headed his call! Now, with the situation at hand, to have a mysterious and evil shadow haunting the Misty Mountains and a part of the Great Greenwood, it seemed as if history repeated itself!

Orthrond curled his thin, blackish lips and barred his teeth in what was –Olorin had understood this earlier- a pensive mood. His red eyes reflecting the light of the fire seemed to look into a far-off place that only he could see. He pondered for a while. Finally he took a sip of orc brew from his mug. The sigh of the chieftain would have frightened half the perianath population on Rivendell’s borders out of their wits, but Olorin had spoken long enough to Haldir’s curious ally to understand, that the creature was truly and deeply upset.

‘He is different.’ He replied thoughtfully.’ He is…’ Orthrond hesitated a moment,’… almost like Boldog: A great leader and warrior, a big, strong orc such as have not been seen since the Host of Angband attacked Doriath of old.’

He threw a glance at Haldir, who nodded, remembering the tales of the Boldog and Lug, who had fought Tuor of Gondolin in single combat before he was slain by the later.

‘He also wields powerful dark magic and rumours tell, that he can call on hungry, houseless spirits and force them to inhabit and then enslave the body of any of his servants and that this strange necromancy then makes a more powerful and much more cunning goblin, who will also grow in physical strength and strength of the mind.’ The orc chieftain had unconsciously fallen into the Sindarin tongue of the Eldar, also from his lips it sounded unmelodious and harsh beyond imagination, but his mastery of the Common speech obviously did not extend to explain so complicate a concept as necromancy. Olorin was deeply shocked and this shock he could not hide from his features.

The Istar threw a short glance at Haldir, who sat still silent and with the sleeping orc imp in his lap. The fair face of the Captain of the Galadhrim did not show any signs of surprise. He had either heard earlier of this fearsome goblin leader and his particular powers or he simply did not understand the implications of Orthrond’s words.

Each feä was imperishable within the life of Arda, and its fate was to inhabit Arda to its end. As soon as they were disbodied they were summoned to leave the places of their life and death and go to Mandos’ Halls of Waiting in the undying realm of the Valar. But no feä could be brought to Namo! It was summoned and yet such summoncould be refused and refusal of the summons to Mandos and the Halls of Waiting was frequent, even among the Eldar. Indeed, if a fear was already committed to the Darkness it passed into its dominion nat the moment of the refusal to hearken Mandos’ summon. Olorin knew that even of the Eldar some who had become corrupted had refused the summons, and thus had had little power to resist the counter-summons of Morgoth. Such practices of mastering the houseless feär and making them servants were of Morgoth and of him alone and all the necromancers had ever been of the host of Sauron his servant. So if the so-called Great Goblin of Goblin Town could call upon the spirits of evil, he was forcefully a necromancer and thus a important and powerful minion of the Great Deceiver. Now his last question would be of vital importance for their quest. Olorin unconsciously and completely absorbed by their discussion laid his hand on Orthrond’s muscular underarm and bend closer to the chieftain.

‘Has anybody trustworthy ever set eye on the Great Goblin? Can you describe him to me? What does he look like?’

Orhrond shook his head.’Nay, I cannot describe him, for he is always cloaked, from head to toe in black ragged cloth and over his head he wears a large hood, covering all but his fiery-red eyes. As far as I know, none has ever seen him uncloaked, not even his minions and slaves. He wields a huge, two-handed sword of which lore tells, that it comes from a fabulous horde of treasure high up in the Northern offshoots of the Hithaeglir, where it meets the Ered Mithryn. And they say that his weapon was once, ages ago forged on the Isle of Numenor and that it was taken from a mighty lord of the Black Numenoreans, who had sailed with Ar-Pharazôn, when he sailed to submit Sauron and carry him off to his island realm. For there was great fighting and battle, before the Dark One gave in to the King of Numenor.’

Olorin shuddered. What Orthrond had told him pointed perhaps not in the direction he had initially feared, but it was almost as bad as if he had spoken of Sauron himself. The description of the one, who gathered hordes of dark creatures to the great goblin stronghold over the High Pass fitted exactly to one servant of the Great Deceiver: The Black Captain, the Lord of the Nazgûl. And now this most terrible of all the servants of Sauron was establishing himself, surrounded by hordes and hordes of yrch, goblin and troll soldiery right on the strategic crossing between the three most important elven heavens of Middle-Earth and directly on the doorstep of Rivendell and the safeway of the elves to the Grey Havens of Mithlond.


	18. Shadows Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 17 Shadows Rising  
  
Celeborn cupped his Lady’s chin and gave her a sweet kiss. They had said there farewells during the long hours of the night; tender pleasure mixed with fear of what doom had once more crept into their world had given it the rare sweetness of love’s farewell.  
  
She held his eyes unblinking, relishing the few moments they could steal from the duty that called the Silver Lord. It had been a long, long while, since she had last seen him clad in the gray and green garment of the wardens, sword girded to his hips and Galadhrim longbow slung over his shoulder.  
  
‘You take care!’ He whispered.’ For I leave my heart and my soul in your keeping.’  
  
Galadriel tried to master her feelings and give him a courageous smile, but nonetheless a teardrop treacherously nestled from her eye and rolled down her fair cheek. The news of the strange creature on the other shore of the Anduin had reached them in the midst of a peaceful family dinner with both Celebrian and Silraen present.  
  
One of the watch posts on the southern fences, by the Great River had observed a dark and stealthy shadow suddenly dragging a deer from the waters into what could only have been an earth hole.  
  
The terrible shrieks of the captured animal had filled the night with such terror, that the wardens had immediately send words to close by Caras Galadhon, not even bothering to contact their superior in the garrison further South where the Celebrant flew into the Anduin and formed, on what once had seen the battle that brought Isildur doom and death, a water frontier between the Elven realm and the ancient Wold of mighty Fangorn.  
  
Haldir’s second-in-command Aiglironion had slightly frowned at the orders to muster a band of stout-hearted and experienced wardens for sunrise. He had argued, that those posted on the frontier between Laurelindórean and the realm of Celeborn’s cousin Thranduil on the other shore of the Anduin where green younglings, still learning their trade and not to be taken serious.  
  
The captain had voiced his suspicion that probably shaken by solitude and darkness in a lonely outpost two inexperienced wardens may have exaggerated a scene for which a perfectly normal explanation would be found in bright sunlight. But he had found himself overruled by an uncommonly authoritarian silver lord almost before he had spoken his thought.  
  
‘He is wrong.’ Galadriel replied thoughtfully. ’Aiglironion is too young to remember!’ And softly she added. ’Haldir would have known immediately, for he still remembers her terrible brood and their cruelty.’  
  
Celeborn nodded. His memories were as lively as those of his foster son. During the War of the Elves against Sauron they had come from the Northern Waste in the following of the Deceiver’s ugly hordes, feasting on elf and orc, on warg and horse alike, pitiless scavengers that would feed on battlefield casualties and the unsuspecting wherever they could make an innocuous catch, but retreating cowardly as soon as they were confronted with a determined band of warriors of either side.  
  
Never had he understood what motivated and controlled the spawn of Ungoliant, for they had wrought havoc in the ranks of both Sauron and the elves of Eregion. But even if the spidery brood had not been drawn to cousin Thranduil’s forest kingdom by a call of some shadow that may loom there, according to Mithrandir, they were clear presage of terrible events soon to come.  
  
‘Even if it pains me to do this without consulting Thranduil; if I feel it is necessary, I shall cross the river. What must have befallen my cousin to allow such creatures of evil to freely roam his lands so close to his capital? How can it be that none of his warriors keeps an eye on the banks of the Anduin and the surroundings?’  
  
His tumb gently caressed the tear from Galadriel’s cheek. Then he turned and descended the stairs to his waiting warriors.  
  
Aiglironion had mustered a half-company –85 highly experienced wardens of the guards regiment that was stationed in Caras Galadhon itself . Since he himself would stay in the capital, during Celeborn’s absence, he had chosen Orophin to go with the Lord. Haldir’s second-in-command watched the ruler of the elven realm grim-faced. Celeborn had no idea what shifting around, recalling and canceling of leave had been involved during last night in order to mount this whimsical expedition. Orophin’s regiment of the North which guarded the most dangerous part of Laurelindórean’s borders needed a crack substitute within the next day or two and Haldir was not there to take the burden of responsibility from his shoulders. Whoever he sent to the garrison there, would be dearly missed in his own unit. He flinched when the Lord clapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder. If ever something should happen during Haldir’s and Celeborn’s absence, all decisions would be upon him…and he did not like that idea very much. Not at all! A strange foreboding of danger and doom seemed to linger over the Golden Wood since its Guardian had left Caras Galadhon a forthnight ago to attend some kind of war council that Glorfindel of Rivendell had called in over the civil war between the three successor states of old Arnor and which seemed to spill across the borders of the elven haven west of the Misty Mountains. Aiglironion swore silently: They would not see their Commander for at least three full moons, considering the distance to Rivendell and the strong chance that such a meeting in the House of Elrond habitually went on for weeks on end.  
  
Celeborn lifted his hand in a last farewell to Galadriel and motioned his warriors to fall in step behind. Then they left at a urgent pace towards the gates of Caras Galadhon and Aiglironion realized that he was all allown with the responsibility for the safety and security of the elven realm.  
  
  
Silraen watched the warriors’ departure from the heights of the talan that harboured the House of Healing of the Wardens. ‘He looks mightily upset!’ She said with a hint of sarcasm to Rumil, who whipped some of his instruments dry before arranging them in a beautifully carved wodden surgeon’s box that bore his family coat of arms.  
  
‘He hates decision making!’ He let his slender finger run over a mithril forceps, admiring its perfect shape and artful decorations. The instrument had been their father’s and while he no longer used it, having it replaced with more practical clamps, he always kept it in his box as a lucky charm.  
  
‘T’is a mystery, why Haldir chose him as his second-in-command.’ He added, continuing with his cleaning and arranging. None of the almost ninethousand rank and file of the Army of Laurelindórean had understood their commander’s choice, when he had named the most controversial and unpopular officer of the realm and Celeborn himself had boild with rage, when he had put his signature under the commission and not spoken to his foster son for about a forthnight. Rumil still remembered the brawl that had ensued between the two elves and although they had fought behind closed doors, all Caras Galadhon had been able to listen in to the silver lord’s fit of temper.  
  
‘Anysse says, t’is because his sour face frightens the yrch away without a fight.’ Silraen chuckled. She dearly loved Rumil’s wife and her dry sense of humor, but in that specific case, she was not so sure that her friend had pulled a yoke on the hapless officer. She might even have stated the truth.  
  
Low, down under the lush crown of the Mallorn tree that housed the healers, Aiglironion could bee seen stomping towards the barracks. He seemed not to care who would listen to him, for he swore like a Naugrim and graced Haldir and the silver lord with a highly interesting panoplia of names.  
  
‘Did you hear that?’ Rumil chuckled. ‘He called the lord a son of a dwarf!’  
  
Silraen pushed her fist into her mouth to suppress an outburst of laughter. It was good to not think of her lover and Galadriel’s highly disturbing revelations of the other day. Deep within she blessed grunchy Aiglironion and his foul temper. Although she was no elleth prone to fits of hysteria or over-dramatization, the detailed account of the Lady’s vision in her Mirror that had preceeded Haldir’s and Mithrandir’s departure had given her the creeps.  
  
Galadriel had spoken of the flaming eye that she had perceived in her mirror. An eye so terrible and wilful, that Silraen shuddered unwillingly although the sun was warm and cheerful on the balcony of the house of Healing and gentle, good-natured Rumil stood by her side. And the Lady had told her of a dark, ethereal presence -bodiless still, but growing in strength with every moment that passed- that put al his force and wilfulness into one single aim and this aim was to dominate all of Middle-earth as he had done so before his defeat by Isildur's valiant stroke on the slopes of Mount Doom. She had spoken to Silraen of a carved-out hill full of dark and horrible caverns, where the shadow had already set upon breeding creatures of the night that bowed to him in deference and fear, willing to spread terror over all known lands at a wink of his flaming-red eye. And she spoke of a great and frightful battle, such as had not been seen since Gil-Galad had led his forces against Mordor more then a thousand years ago. Galdriel had told her of her fears for the Galadhrim , but also for their Greenwood bretheren and she had hinted upon many a grieving widow, who would take to the sea and leave the shores of Aman.  
  
Silraen gave a deep sigh. Many a grieving widow! What should she make from this last sentence of the Lady: Was it a statement, for battle and strife always made grieving widows in elves, men and dwarves alike and she supposed that even the creatures of the shadows were capable to mourn their losses, for she had met Haldir’s curious yrch friends, who lived in a hidden valley close to the borders of Laurelindórean, when they came occasionally into the Naith for some feast or fair and her paths crossed from time to time that of their dark and exotically beautiful daughter Atalantá, whom Tintemir the Basket Weaver had taken for wife when she came to Caras Galadhon from her their dwelling in a glade off Cerin Amroth.  
  
‘What bothers you, dear friend?’ Rumil enquired gently, closing his surgeaon’s box and taking a comfortable seat on a small bench on the platform. He had observed Silraen for a while, who still stared at the wardens’ barracks, although Aiglironion and his display of temper were already out of earshot. Since Haldir’s impromptu departure a forthnight ago he had often seen this sad and thoughtful expression on Silraen’s fair face, and while he had it first attributed only to the Captain’s absence, he was no longer so certain. He himself had had strange dreams for a while, being possessed of a very ancient clearsightedness inherited on his mother’s family’s side and not necessitating a mirror, quell water and silver pinchers. The second sight that ran in his line was what some still called the ancient magic of the Moriquendi and while much was lost or forgotten in other lines of Sylvan folk, his clan had always nurtured the gift.  
  
Silraen settled next to Rumil and took his calloused hand between her slender fingers. Since she had fisrt set foot into the Golden Wood, Rumil’s gentle brother had been a close friend and trusted confident. Wiser in many ways then his brother Orophin, for whom Haldir had great friendship, he was also less hard-nosed and tough-minded then her bethrothed which made it much easier to talk with him about matters that were neither tangible with hand nor good common sense.  
  
‘T’is but a feeling,’ She explained,’…a strangely familiar gloom that seems to grab me from the depths of days long gone bye and dangers gone long ago.’ Silraen had promised to the Lord and Lady not to partake her knowledge with any of her friends and so she chose to simply describe that doom she had seen lingering over their golden forest and Haldir, the moment Galadriel’s messenger had stepped out from the shadows of the elder tree. She wondered, if sensitive and perceptive Rumil had had similar forebodings, for she had known for long that he had the ability to see far and deep without the help of magical contraptions.  
  
The ellon nodded thoughtfully. He knew exactly what his friend was talking of and although he had chosen not to share his fears with anybody, for they were vague and still far away, he felt somewhat relieved with the idea that someone else in the Valley of the Singing Gold saw it, too. ‘I understand you very well, my dear Lady.’ He replied and squeezed her fingers gently.’ Alas I cannot put a name to it and I am almost incline to agree with Aiglironion that perhaps those younglings down by the Anduin saw shadows in the dark and were frightened.’ He smiled and regaled his companion with a little anecdote about a report on a terrible water monster, that had landed from said watchpost on Haldir’s table. The missive had caused quite an uproar in the headquaters of the wardens and the Captain himself had been deeply disturbed by the sighting and the detailed description of the ‘beast’. A dozen of galoppers had been sent off to all the dwellings by the river banks in such a haste that it had taken almost an hour before the dust of their hoves had settled in the streets. Warnings were given to leave the boats ashore and keep the elflings from the water and veterans of the wardens were called from retirement to reinforce the southern watchposts. They had even sent messenger birds to their Greenwood kindred, although none of them dwelt closer to the banks of the Great River then two full days of march. Finally Haldir had ordered to drag the stream over the full leagues of the Laurelindórean borders with nets so tigh that even a silma fish could not escape.  
  
Silraen grinned. She had heard rumours of that affair, but her beloved stubbornly refused to tell her even the trifelest of trifles and every time she brought up the subject, he blushed to a rather Elrondish red. She was highly curious to learn the conclusion of the mystery!  
  
‘Well,’ said Rumil with a roughish grin,’After a full week of hard labour they had dragged out the monster…and it proved to be a very long and very hollow beech trunk upon which a gigantic host of slippery young river eels had taken up residence between the tangles of algae and water weed that entangled the long dead branches.’  
  
Silraen laughed heartily, almost forgetting her earlier gloomy thoughts, imagining her brave Captain batteling with a rotten old tree trunk and Laurelindórean’s famed delicacy that was served either smoked or in a pie on many occasions.  
  
  
  
It leapt upon him before he could react. The lonely hunter felt the weight of the creature crushing him, driving him to his knees, his bow knocked out of his grip. It lay, shining dimly on the mossy ground of the silent forest grove, far from his reach. Still, he whirled about, unsheathing his hunting knife from his belt, feeling a strong pair of hairy long legs clamp about his back, sharp pincers clicking about his neck. He reached behind him in a tremendous effort to hurt whatever it was with his knife and hopefully drive it away from him. The silent struggle continued for long moments as the hunter tried to wrest out of his attacker's grip. With the hairy creature still clinging to his back, he managed somehow to come to his feet. He stood rooted to the ground, legs wide apart in order to give him greater leverage and momentum. Suddenly the creature at his back made a strange, whooshing sound as if drawing breath between clenched teeth and the hunter took the opportunity, bucked his knees, dropping, falling backward so as to pin the creature between his muscular body and the ground. The manoeuvre worked. The hunter twisted quickly about, keeping his weight upon the hairy, many-legged thing, bringing his arms around and knocking the two hornlike pincers away from his neck. He looked down and nearly choked with horror.  
  
Eight darkish-blue eyes looked up at him full of malice and undisguised fury. Directly underneath the spider’s eyes the hunter saw its most dangerous weapon, the chelicerae, a pair of appendages that the monster would use to seize and kill its prey. He understood immediately he could give no quarter to this enemy. Swiftly he brought a knee to the creature's cephalothorax and pinned it down violently, as he reached for his short sword. In the hunter’s experienced hand it suddenly flared into life, bringing forth a great light, for it was an ancient Elvish blade from the smithies of Eregion that had served his family for ages. From the spider creature came a loud shriek of pain when the cold steel pierced its soft abdomen.  
  
The hunter leaped back with the agility of a swordfighter, out of reach of the pincers that snapped convulsively during the monster’s death struggle. He stared down upon the twisting legs and a sudden desire to spill all his stomach’s contents came over him. Never before in his long life in this forest had the hunter seen such an infernal monster, but he was an old elf whom the traumatizing experiences of the battlefields of Eregion had driven through the mines of Moria, through Laurelindórean, across the great river Anduin and deep into the forests of the Great Greenwood, where ever since he had left a solitary life of wandering. Only on the rare occasions of an annual trade fair or a great market would he leave the protection of the trees and seek out either his kinfolk or their friends, the men of Dale, to barter some skins and furs for the few necessities he needed for his sustenance.  
  
The hunter gave a deep sigh of relief, when the dead struggle of the monster finally came to its ends. He remembered these horrors most vividly. They had followed the host of Sauron’s army into the lands of Eregion to cruelly feast on elves and yrch alike. They had spread more terror with his kin then the goblin axes, troll maces and yrch arrows of Sauron’s army, for they were the evil spawn of the Gloomweaver Ungoliath, who had survived the ages hidden in the great northern wasteland …and now they had come from their evil abode once again to invade the realm of the wood elves.  
  
The hunter picked up his bow, pulled his short sword from the spider’s belly and cleaned it on a tuff of grass. It was not the time of the summer fair on the Amon Lanc yet, but he felt that it was most urgent to overcome his reticence for company and seek out his kin. Throwing a last, spiteful glance upon the stinking carcass, he sheathed his heirloom, slung his bow over his strong shoulders and jogged out of the glade into the trees. He was strong and courageous. With a little bit of luck he would cover the distance to King Thranduil’s capital in three days. He was determined to see the Captain of the Wardens and to tell him about his horrible discovery.


	19. Ungoliant's Spawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A tale of mystery and adventure set in around 1300 T.A -

Chapter 18 – Ungoliant’s Spawn  
  
At the first rays of the morning sun, they had left the hidden valley of Orthrond’s clan. Olorin followed in Haldir’s footsteps, while they climbed higher and higher. Fanuidhol was as steep and as hard as Caradhras and cruel with those who dared to challenge him. For the last five or six hours the two companions had marched in silence. With every difficult step forward and upwards Haldir seemed to withdrawn a little bit more into himself. His fair face was set into a mask of calm determination. Olorin –still fresh and strong from the hearthy breakfast of scrambled eggs, boar bacon and thick buttermilk that Orthrond’s female Lurzana had served him – marched on with great vigour. Although many convictions he had held firmly since his arrival in the Hitherlands had crumbled to dust during their three days in the orc camp, the information he had received concerning the mysterious master of Gobblin Town had doubled his motivation. He was firmly convinced that they would indeed discover one of the Nazgûl in the cavernous dwelling under the High Pass. Nonetheless, this conviction did not solve the mystery of the shadowy presence that lingered over the highlands of Dorthonion in the Westernmost part of King Thranduil elven realm.  
  
When Haldir called finally a rest under the blazing sun of high noon, Olorin accepted the proposition with grace. He was not yet tired, but he desired much to discuss the continuation of their journey with his companion. The night before they had left Orthrond’s clan, the Captain of the Galadhrim had abandoned the Ista for long hours to the attention of the females and a few young members of the renegade band to disappear together with the chieftain and a dozen of his most trusted warriors in the depths of their cavernous dwelling. When Olorin had tried to follow them, a finely shapped but nonetheless ferocious looking female had barred his path with a strange grin on her face and a hand on the hilt of her hunting knife. And while he had seen with his own eyes, that even in the darkest and most shadowy creatures there was still a glimpse of the light, he had immediately understood from her gesture, that he was close to overstepping a rather thin boundary. He had not insisted, understanding from the expression on her blackskinned face that she did not desire to inflict harm upon him, but was ready to do so, if need arose. When Haldir had finally returned from his lengthy and confidential encounter, the Captain appeared as composed as ever, but Olorin had felt an intriguing tension close under the seemingly impenetrable, thick skin of the seasoned elven warrior. Wisdom and experience had told him to not enquire in that place and amidst that very special company, but now Celeborn’s tame yrch were far away.  
  
  
He observed his companion for a while. The Captain of the Galadhrim had offered him a few strips of dried boar meat, that the yrch had offered them together with a skin of their brew and some packs of their own waybread as a parting gift. Then he had settled down on his heels on the edge of the small ravine that bordered the path they had followed. His storm grey eyes were set upon some far off place and he seemed to ponder upon somethingrather grave. The heavy frown upon the warrior’s brow did not bode well.  
  
‘Will you share your thoughts with me, Captain!’ Olorin finally asked. Haldir’s stubborn silence and secretive manner of the other eve still unnerved the Ista.  
  
Haldir did not reply, while the frown upon his brow deepened. His fair face showed signs of stress. After a moment that seemed endless to the wizard, his companion finally gave a deep sigh and shook his head in exasperation. Then he rose to his feet, turned from the cliff and walked over to Olorin’s place of rest. He settled his longlimbed body comfortably under one of large boulder that threw a heavy shadow over the sun-dazed place. ‘I can no longer reach him!’ He said simply.  
  
‘Celeborn?’  
  
The Captain nodded gravely and to Olorin’s surprise he told him about the nightly conference with Orthrond and his warriors.  
  
‘I asked them to send a messenger to Orophin on the Northern Fences. Orophin’s regiment is much used to work with Orthrond’s band and they get along very well…’  
  
Haldir shook his head and closed his eyes for an instant, recollecting all that Orthrond’s eldest son Tark had told him. Tark was a tremendously skilled scout and tracker and so capable of stealth, that occasionally he managed to even surprise some of his lesser experienced wardens…and he was a daredevil. The young one had ventured down the western slope of the Maiden’ head and walked the uttermost mountainous border of the ancient realm of Hollin in pursuit of some game. These lands were now considered by the Kings of Rhudaur as part of their realm. Only his considerable woodmanship had saved Tark from a terrible fate, when he had stumbled over one of the nightmares of Haldir’s already troubled dreams: a large host of warg riders, heading from the thick forests on the shores of the river Hoarwell towards the ancient west gate of the Dwarrowdelf. Orthrond’s son had spend many days tracking the host and he was convinced that they were making for the Redhorn Pass, which was the only manageable passage other then the ford of the Isen, if they intended to head for the eastern side of the Hithaeglir.  
  
The Captain pulled a long, slender hand over his face, which seemed suddenly worn with age and sorrow. ‘I cannot reach him with my mind any longer and there is a host of warg riders on their way over the mountains. This, the bands of yrch and snaga, the looming shadow and the necromancer in Gobblin Town….’ He clenched his teeth, trying desperately to control anger and fear. ‘We must bring wardens from the South to the Northern fences and send urgent warning to Durin’s people…and I am stuck here with you on the top of Cloudyhead…I cannot reach him and Elrond’s even further away for my small skill to farspeak…and Orthrond’s warriors cannot outrun wargs.’  
  
Olorin placed a comforting hand on his companion’s arm. ‘Will you tell me, what you decided with your friend yestereve?’ He enquired gently. He felt, that for the sake of the Captain of the Galadhrim he would be soon obliged to reveal himself.  
  
Haldir gave a deep sigh. It was no habit of his to carry his heart upon his sleeve and bother your next elf or wizard with problems that were his duty to solve. But he was stuck! Galadriel had ordered him to go upon this lonely quest with her fishy friend against his own better judgement. He pondered the issue for a moment in silence: There was more to Mithrandir then hit the eye. The Lady would not waste her time with some amusing but bland cheap conjurer of the second born kin. He had felt himself, that the old man hid something rather carefully and Orthrond’s perceptive female Lurzana had spoken of an awesome light magic, stronger then the magic of the Lady of Light to which she had grown accustomed over the centuries. He decided to muster his legendary sangfroid to challenge his companion.  
  
‘I shall tell you everything,’ The Captain said calmly, ‘…and I shall continue with you upon this accursed quest, doing whatsoever your whim and bidding, even if this means to get us into the very caverns of Gobblin Town and under the Great Gobblin’s darksome throne. But you must do something for me in exchange.’  
  
Olorin squeezed the Captain’s forearm, chuckling softly. He was clever, Celeborn’s foster son…clever and very hard-nosed indeed. But it was a small price to pay to humour the warrior and none could say, that Haldir requested something from him just to gratify his own curiosity. And he had had the tact to not ask any snoopy questions.  
  
‘What do you want, Captain?’ Olorin’s eyes sparkled. He already knew the reply and he would oblige Haldir, but he was nonetheless a little bit curious.  
  
‘I have the feeling, that you are quite capable to speak to another’s mind over some distance. For if not, you would not have been able to catch me trying to pry your thoughts on that morn before we crossed the Silverlode.’ He lifted an eye to spy the wizard’s reaction, then bit his lip and swallowed.’Alas, I cannot farspeak over great distance and Caras Galadhon is beyond my reach and skill…and so is Imladris and the Lord Elrond. If you may, in your own ways, try and touch either the Lady or the Peredhel and tell them, what we have learned of Orthrond. It will take Tark at least eight days to reach Orophin’s garrison and the way through the chimney of the Maiden’s Head is unknown to Orthrond’s tribe. The other messenger will be en route for at least a forthnight, before he can cross into the Naith…’  
  
Olorin nodded thoughtfully.’I shall do your bidding, Captain. But tell me: Why shall I contact Galadriel and not the Lord Celeborn?’  
  
Haldir gave the Ista a nonchalant gaze.’My adar is no longer in Caras Galadhon, Mithrandir, but far to the south of the realm. I wonder, if he’s taken to pay visit to Thranduil on the other side of the Anduin, for I cannot feel him any more, since we reached Orthrond’s cavern.’  
  
Olorin decided to simply take his companion’s statement as a fact and while his curiosity pushed him to enquire about the distances over which Haldir was able to contact Celeborn, although he seemed unable to get in touch with anybody else who possessed the gift and skill of farspeak, he understood that the moment was perhaps not well chosen. He closed his eyes for an instant and reached out towards Artanis.  
  
‘T’is done!’ The Ista stated unassumingly after a while. He had told the Lady of the Light all they had learned from Celeborn’s tame yrch and also, that two of their kin were on errands towards the Northern fences and Caras Galadhon. ‘Would you like to get word to Elrond, too?’  
  
Haldir shook his head.’ There is no need. My Lady will let him know, for a hord of wargs on the loose are grave danger on both sides of the mountain. But they will not make for the West and Rivendell.’ He bade the wizard with a sign of the hand to get back to his feet and continue their journey. It was not necessary to sit and talk. What he would tell Mithrandir, he could also say, while walking.  
  
  
  
Orodhrim had ridden hard, after he had left his brother Legolas andd the caravan of their people. It was a kind of gut feeling, that the gentle old wizard who had established his home on the outermost border of his father’s realm some fifty years after the War of the Last Alliance and the downfall of the Great Deceiver possessed the lore and knowledge to at least answer the questions concerning the gigantic spider webs they’d discovered in the ancient dwarven tunnels. Orodhrim’s keen elven eyes already spied the wooden fences of Rhosgobel. He reined in his steed, padding its shoulder gently. He thought of the shadow over the Amon Lanc. He was convinced, that this shadow and the appearance of the first spider webs in the tunnels were related. A fortnight after their hunting trip with Legolas and the first discovery of the webs, a very small elven child of 10 summers had suddenly fallen into a dead like slumber and faded away within the week, notwithstanding the healers’ desperate efforts. He still remembered the eery sight: The elfling’s skin had been yellowish and dry like old parchment. The next victim had been a rather youngish elleth and she, too had fallen into the strange and deathlike slumber.  
  
The great gate that left into Rhosgobel stood open and already from afar, Orodhrim perceived Radagast’s thin body bent over one of the numerous flower beds of his herbal garden. An impressive quantity of feathered friends of the strange old man where with him. The young elflord saw a beautiful egret fishing in Radagast’s small pond and several little singing birds fluttered excitedly over his horse’s head. A wild sow and her brood of piglets were turning over a muddy spot by the fence for roots and some small deer grazed peacefully together with some sturdy and long haired ponies.  
  
Radagast did not seem to notice his visitor. He had a wicker basket by his side and was cutting small, yellowish flowers that resembled Laurelindòrean niphredils, also Orodhrim knew from an earlier visit they were not. He stopped his horse and dismounted waiting for his curious friend to finish his business and turn around.  
  
It did not take very long, before the strange old man had filled his basket and carried it from the gardens. Perceiving his elven visitor he smiled broadly and motioned him and his horse over to the main dwelling, a wooden longhouse with a neat tatched roof, sourrounded by dark red and violet hollyhock, sunflowers and pale yellow evening primroses.  
  
‘Son of Thranduil, I great thee!’ Radagast exclaimed cheerfully. He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket of his roughed brown robes, brushing the sweat from his brow. It was an extremely hot early summer day and he had been busy since the first hours of the day with harvesting healing plants.  
  
Orodhrim answered Radagast’s greeting in kind, strolling with the old man towards the house and an inviting mug of cool cidre. After he had taken care of his steed, he joined the brown wizard in the shadow’s of a tree.  
  
‘So t’is true.’ Radagast answered, after Orodhrim had given him a short account on the problems they had faced in and around the elven capital of the Great Greenwood and a detailed description of the strange ailings that had befallen elf children and grown up elves alike.  
  
Orodhrim stared at the old man with surprise written on his fair face.’You knew? Why did you not send word of warning to my sire? Why did you not tell us?’  
  
The brown wizard laying a comforting hand on the prince’s arm, shook his head. He had not known, only felt something evil that way come.He had arrived from Valinor in Aman some threehundred years ago together with five companions and the mission of the Valar had been clear from the day Manwë had summoned him and his peers to the halls of Taniquetil. The fact that the desperate victory of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men against the deceiver Sauron had only been half a success was no secret for the higher powers of Arda. And he was Aiwendil, the friend of birds and all the creatures that lived in the wild!  
  
He had not known for certain, what was happening in the southern part of Thranduil’s realm, but his little feathered friends were telling him for many a moon, that they did not like to live there any longer and preferred to migrate further North or else cross the Anduin and nest in the golden wood of the Galadhrim, where no evil could touch them. He took his time to explain, what he had learned of nature life to Orodhrim and requested of the elven prince more detailed account of his father’s strange ailing and the shadow that had befallen the Amon Lanc. And when the prince of the Great Greenwood finished his story upon the spider webs they had come across in the old dwarven caves, he frowned.  
  
Ungoliat’s spawn had never entirely disappeared from the lands of Aman and he knew that many a dreadful creature still dwelled in the hiddeaous abodes that the re-shaping of the lands had created after the sundering of Beleriand, but he had never ever thought to be so close to a dangerous dwelling. The last sightings the eagle’s had reported to him had been those in the far north close to the holy Mount Gundabad, where Durin was awaken ages ago by the will of his creator Aulë and these fell beasts did not hearken to any master. They simply fed and sated their hunger on every creature alive, be it some thing of the dark or else a being of the light.  
  
Radagast pondered Orodhrim’s request to help the elves for a while and tried to weight the good he could do by accompagnying the elven prince to the capital of his father against the ill to abandon his watch over the Misty Mountains, were more and more yrch were seeking for new homes, answering the call of the Great Gobblin of Gobblin Town. T’was a strange happening to have one of a sudden rise an orc creature about all others and finding in itself the skill and cunning to unite them under one rule. It was also a dangerous happening, for the yrch of the Great Gobblin were by now so numerous, that they could send out hosts against the leven realms on both sides of the mountains. With the civil strife already under way for years unnumbered between the three successor states of ancient Anor, the scene was set for something that could ressemble the terrible war between the Elves and Sauron. Radagast felt that a new terrible power was growing under the Misty Mountains that would change the fragile balance of powers in Middle Earth for many years to come. And the elves alone were no longer strong enough to fight such a foe!  
  
‘ I will ride with you, Orodhrim!’ The old wizard replied gravely. ‘For grave danger not only lies in front of us and in the depths of the Hitaeglir, but also in the heart of Thranduil’s realm and I must understand who is the mastermind …if there is one and then we shall seek together for a way to fight these shadows that threaten not only your people, but also all other life in this part of Middle-Earth. I wish I could consult with an old friend of mine, who is wiser and more learned in these matters. I shall send one of my winged friends to search for him and bring him as quickly as possible to the heart of the realm of the Greenwood, where the shadow you describe seems to dwell.’  
  
Orodhrim gave a deep sigh of content when he heard Radagast’s decision. He had hoped that the wise, old man would come with him, but he had not expected that the master of Rhosgobel would bring to their aid another master of wisdom. Hope was blossoming in the elven prince’s chest. They would discover what haunted them and had pushed his father Thranduil to the point of almost fading away…and then they would fight it and chase it from their home.  
  
He bowed deep to Radagast and thanked the wizard in the elven style. ‘I am at your command and my sword will protect thee, wise man and each and every elven warrior of my father’s realm shall willingly step into danger yt your side! When shall we ride?’  
  
Radagst smiled at the enthusiasm of his unexpected visitor. He had many things to do, before he could take saddle and abandon Rhosgobel to its own devices. ‘I shall be ready in two days time, Orodhrim. Go you now and rest, while I see to my mansion and those who dwell here under my protection.’  
  
  
  
The march from Caras Galadhon to the banks of the Anduin had been quick business. Celeborn had managed to bring his chosen elves and several good and stealthy embarkations down to the Laurelindorean side of the great river in less then a day. Now the wardens were manning two-by-two a range of flets that stretched over almost a league to both sides from where the strange occurrence with the deer and the monster had happened. He himself had questioned the two young wardens, who had send word to the capital and against all predjudice voiced by Aiglironion, found their story not only credible but consistent. Neither of the young elves gave him the impression of being frightened by strange noises in the dark or prone to see ghosts. They were well trained, self-assured and competent, equal to those of Orophin’s command who manned the dangerous Northern fences and who had been fighting a constant, bloddy battle with the remainders of Sauron’s terror regime and other potential enemies of his realm for the last ten centuries, since the downfall of the Great Deceiver.  
  
The silver lord loosened his sword girth and settled himself comfortably against the trunk of the great mallorn tree upon which the central flet was build. He had chosen to keep this station himself together with an elf from the East – Merion – who was reputed to have the keenest eyesight of all the Galadhrim.  
  
Night was falling slowly over the river banks, covering the dark waters with a silvery blanket of stars reflecting upon the surface. Small animals bristled in the underwood and occasionally the soft steps of larger beasts –mostly deer going down to the river banks for a drink- livened the dead silence in which the elves keep their watch. Merion stood motionlessly on the high platform, his eyes fixed upon the other side of the great river.  
  
Celeborn was as alert as his companion, but his watchful eye was directed upon another target. A small group of roe deer, several females with their youngsters and a rather impressive male drank almost directly in front of the flet. The does and their calves seemed relaxed, but the huge male had his head high up in the air, sniffing suspiciously. His whole body seemed tense. The animal was feeling something wicked but had not yet made up its mind, if there was a direct treat or not to his family.  
  
A small chirping noise, similar to the sound of a cockrobing pierced the darkness. Celeborn saw Merion averting his eyes for an instant from the bank, looking into the directin from where the sound had come. Then suddenly, in something that seemed like a burst of thunder, the stag, his females and their young ones galloped up the river bank and burst into the safety of the thick underwood. The silver lord perceived something, too: Slowly, very slowly two darkish limbs seemed to grow out of the ground on the other bank of the Anduin. Not directly in front of his watchpost, but a bit further to the flet, which was shared by Orophin and one of the young wardens, who had reported the monster of the Greenwood. For an instant, the limbs remained static, raised in the air. Then two more extremities followed and finally –Merion, who had a keener eyesight then Celeborn already flinched – a spearpoint shaped head followed.  
  
‘T’is horrible!’ Whispered the other elf.  
  
Celeborn did not need to see the rest of the creature climbing out of its earth hole to know, what they were facing. The two young wardens had been right. It was a monster! When the bulky body had finally extricated itself from the hiding place, the silver lord admitted to himself, that never before in his long life, not even during the desperate defense of Hollin against Sauron and his minions, had he seen a more impressive specimen of that forsaken race. Such must have been Ungoliant of old herself, when she had drained the light of the Two Trees of Valinor. He estimated the spider’s height at at least eight feet. It was higher then the highest elven steed of his stables and as bulky and solid as a cave troll. It was absolutely frightening!  
  
Another cockrobin whistle pierced the night. This time to his left and he averted his eye from the dreadful display of monstrousity to look into the new direction. Faintly he perceived another pair of limbs testing the air. The nightmarish creature was not alone!  
  
Transfixed the elves watched the unwinding of five more monstrous spiders from earth holes on the other shore of the Anduin. In an eery silence the living nightmares congregated. It almost looked as if they were discussing some terrible plan. Their pincers cliqued and they touched each others heads. Then they formed a massive bulk and creeped down the shores, ever closer to the water. After a few moments that seemed to Celeborn to last a lifetime, the spiders disappeared in a waste patch of reed, obviously their hiding spot for their nightly hunt on unsuspecting victims, whod come to drink from the waters of the great river.  
  
Celeborn did not need long to make up his mind: His decision was taken before the last of the monsters had disappeared in the reed. They would cross the Anduin in their light elven boats at first daylight and investigate the full length of the southern river bank under the protection of the sun. From his former experience in Hollin he knew very well, that these six creatures would not be alone. Spiders multiplied at an alarming pace and when there was six, it would take less then a year to have hundredfold that number. And within a nick of time, the shores on the Mirkwood side of the great river would be infested with a deadly plague…and then, they would start to migrate: Contrary to many others of their kin, the gigantic spiders of the North that had ravaged Eregion in the suite of the War of the Elves against Sauron had not been afraid of water. They were more then capable to decide upon a crossing, as soon as their prey would become scarce in the realm of his cousin Thranduil.  
  
The elven lord closed his eyes for an instant, focussing his mind and thoughts upon his beloved, whom he had left behind in the safety of Caras Galadhon. If the monsters would ever make for the shores of Laurelindoréan, they would become a present and immediate danger to the strongly populated capital of his realm and the orchards the Galadhrim kept a bit further to the South in Egladil, where the Silverload ran into the Anduin.


End file.
